Dangerous Love
by Brookebynature
Summary: Jay Halstead's sole purpose in life is to graduate and join the police academy. That is, until he moves to Chicago and meets Erin Lindsay, a girl who just can't seem to stay out of trouble. It shouldn't be a problem. Except, he just can't seem to stay away. Linstead. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Here it is: my new story. I've been toying with the idea of this for a while, and I kind of didn't want to write a high school fic, but I also think there's so much to explore regarding Erin and Jay's respective high school experiences - especially Erin's. Now obviously this is AU, so I've changed a few facts that I'm sure you'll pick up on the way.**

 **It's also written in first person again because so many readers said they enjoyed that aspect of Let Me Love You. We'll get alternate POVs though. This one is Jay's. Next chapter is Erin's.**

 **I kind of stole the title from 'Leave Me Lonely' by Ariana Grande and Macy Gray, because IMO, that song is damn sexy. So yeah...don't sue me for it.**

 **Hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think with a review. x**

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Dangerous Love

The thing about Chicago that overwhelms me more than anything is the noise. The sirens. Chasing and screaming into the night, even when it seems like the whole world should be asleep. They're a perpetual soundtrack to daily life, winning out over the heaviness of the summer sun and the pounding of winter's hail. It's all a stark contrast to the softness back home in Wisconsin.

I miss the quiet. The thickness of the trees by the lake: so dense they could muffle screams if they wanted, yet they always seemed gentle in a way, kind of misunderstood.

Even the school parking lot here seems more brash than it was in Bayfield. I park the 300 and get the odd look, although nobody says anything so I head to the main entrance steps and hope like hell the next year and a half passes quickly so I can get out of here and to the academy.

I get a printed schedule from a middle-aged woman named Brenda who wishes me a great first day with a smile painted in a pink lipstick that clashes with the orange cardigan she has draped over her shoulders. As I follow the schedule's accompanying map, I mentally recall everything I can about her: white blouse; bra underneath that should too have been white but was too visible to be any colour lighter than pastel, meaning she'd probably opted for something that was blue - or green, maybe; a necklace in silver clasped around her neck that had a blue stone sitting in its centre - too light to be a sapphire; unpainted but manicured nails; hair cut into a short bob showing no evidence of grey, but judging by the odd flecks in her eyebrows, was dyed an unoffensive light brown. I smile a little: I'm getting better.

By the time I reach the biology lab, the bell has already rung and I'm left with two seat choices: next to some dark-haired kid with an intense stare, or alone at the back of the room beside something that looks suspiciously like a working boiler which really should have been condemned about a decade ago. I take the seat on its own, open my textbook and silently calculate how many days I'm gonna have to spend here.

"Hey,"

I look to my right at the girl on the table next to me, leaning across enough so I can see down the open buttons of her shirt. I bring my eyes up to hers.

"Hey."

"What's your name?"

"Jay."

Her eyes are blue - more of a turquoise than mine - and her hair is naturally blonde, though she's had highlights added in. She's around five-six, maybe 120 - 125 pounds and she hasn't even written the date on her notepaper.

"Where you from?"

"Bayfield, Wisconsin," I reply in a whisper, although the teacher is busy writing something to do with cell specialisation on the board and I've already done this.

"Cute," she says with a smile, although I have no idea what's _cute_ about the fact I come from some small lakeside town. "I'm Chrissy. If you need a lab partner, You can join us," she gestures to the girl sitting beside her. "We can be a threesome."

I don't miss the innuendo, but if I had, Chrissy ensures I understand _exactly_ what she's implying by adding a wink. Just as I'm about to whisper a thanks, the teacher turns and sets down his pen.

"Everything okay back there?"

"Jay's new," Chrissy returns without missing a beat. "I was suggesting that if he needs a partner for lab work, he can join Jessica and me."

"How kind of you. Though I assume he would have the sense to join Artie here, if he needed a partner." The teacher raises an eyebrow but Chrissy just shrugs and the lesson resumes.

We're almost a half hour in when the door opens and a girl - probably no taller than five-three with waves of dark blonde-almost-brown hair - enters the room, ripped jeans showing that underneath, her knees are red from the cold. The hand that clutches her bag matches, though I can't tell whether the other one does too as it's buried inside of her coat pocket.

"Miss Lindsay," the teacher (Mr Davies - as I've now learned his name to be) drawls and I detect a hint of the south in his accent. "Nice of you to join the only class you _aren't_ currently failing before it finishes."

"I missed the bus," is her response as she heads towards me, taking up the seat to my left.

"And I won the lottery at the weekend," Mr Davies deadpans, but says no more, and returns to explaining about the four tissue groups in animals with his back to us. I take the chance to turn my head in a bid to appraise the girl next to me: hazel-green eyes; pale skin though the redness of the cold is slowly retreating; fur-lined boots that are wet from the snow outside, and judging by the way she's tapping them against the leg of her stool, they're not waterproof.

"Hey," I whisper after approximately seven minutes pass, during which she says and does nothing - not even a flick of her hair. At my greeting, she turns her head and appraises me, a look of curiosity in her expression though it's masked mainly by tiredness; the raw redness under her eyes giving her away.

"Hey," she returns without really a hint of a smile, but then she catches sight of the travel mug of coffee on my desk. I'd almost forgotten it was there. "Tell me that's black."

"It's black," I confirm. "But probably kinda cold by n-" It doesn't seem to matter. This girl is finishing off the half I haven't drunk like she's been in the desert for days without water.

"It's cold," she winces, once she sets the travel mug down. "And weak. What? You can't make a decent cup of coffee?"

"You some sort of barista?" I ask.

At that, there's a hint of a genuine smile and then these two dimples break out - one either side of her lips and suddenly, it's like time stops and everything around me ceases to exist.

"I can make a decent cup of coffee," she replies with a raised eyebrow, those little delves framing her mouth still on display and either my brain or my heart is busy short-circuiting because I can't form a coherent response. "Something _you_ can't, apparently."

"Miss Lindsay," Mr Davies sighs from in front of his chalkboard, and it makes me jump a little because I'd forgotten where we are for a moment. "At least have the decency to listen when you _are_ actually here. You might learn something."

I watch as she rolls her eyes at our teacher's response and I can't help the smile that crosses my lips. There and then, I decide I want to know everything about her, but the last thing I want is to draw her any more negative attention, so I force myself to listen to the stuff I already know, force my eyes on my paper which I'm covering in notes, rather than hers which is still blank. Maybe she's got a photographic memory. Or she just doesn't care, I figure - which is more likely - because she's apparently failing every other class.

The remainder of the lesson passes in snapshots: a diagram on the board to copy down; giggling from the girls on the table next to mine as they look across the space; this weird pull on my fingers, like they want to touch this girl's dimples, to feel whether they really are as good as they look. There's a snapshot of Mr Davies asking me a question and my mouth forming an answer before my brain has fully processed my request, and I don't know whether it's correct or not, but there's not resulting comeback and so I assume whatever I said is the right answer because time passes until finally the bell rings and the girl next to me is leaving before I've even had chance to ask her name.

"There's a party this weekend at our friend Kelly's house," Chrissy tells me as we're filing out of the door and I'm scanning the crowd for my lab partner...if you can even call her that. "You should come."

"I uh…"

"You like to party, right?" she asks "'Cause _everyone's_ going to be there."

"Everyone?" I question stupidly, when what I really mean, is ' _even the girl with the dimples_?'

" _Everyone_ ," Chrissy replies, tapping the syllables on my chest as she speaks them.

"Maybe I'll swing by."

"I hope so."

At that, Chrissy and Jess strut away and I stare for a moment at nothing in particular until I remember I have a class to go to, and dig into my pocket for the map Brenda the receptionist gave me so I can find the room I'm supposed to take math in.

X

The girl with the dimples doesn't come to math class. Not even half-way through, like I expect (or _hope_?) her to, but I spot her at lunch, outside the cafeteria and way over in the parking lot, crouching over by a black car and talking to somebody through the driver's side window.

"Jay," I hear a voice - Jess, I remember, from first period. She slides herself into the seat opposite, then motions with her hand to someone behind me to join us. "How's your first day going?"

"It's uh…" I glance down at the dry meatloaf on my lunch tray, then over Jess' shoulder at the girl in the parking lot. "It's okay I guess."

"Just okay?"

I smile a little. "Not as bad as I was expecting."

"Yeah I get it; but high school pretty much sucks wherever you are, right? At least the parties make it worth it."

Parties. They're not really my thing, but I don't want to be the odd one out here. "Guess you're right."

I can still see the girl from earlier, surrounded by what looks like a halo of cigarette smoke.

"The girl I sat with in our biology class -"

"- You mean Erin?" Chrissy interrupts, joining us. _Erin_. _Erin Lindsay_. I twist and turn the words in my head and yeah, her name fits. "She's…" the girls share some sort of a look, then a slight laugh.

"Don't waste your time with her. She's seeing someone anyway," Jess adds. "If that's what you were thinking. He's way older. Kind of looks like my dad's age."

The girls share another laugh and I detect a cruel hint to it - like they're acknowledging some private joke I'm not in on.

"Right," I faux-shrug, like I don't care about this information. I _shouldn't_. "I wasn't meaning that. Just wondered." The words feel heavy on my tongue: a lie that's inexplicable considering I've spent all of forty minutes with Erin, gotten a mildly flirtatious response to a single question I asked and an empty travel mug handed back to me after she'd drunk my coffee.

I look back over Jess' shoulder and she's gone - so has the car. Toying the meatloaf around on my fork, I take a sip of water and mentally recall what Erin's wearing - testing my skills again: ripped jeans; dark brown fur-lined boots (not waterproof) and a chunky sweater, one that, now I think about it, is clearly too big for her and almost undoubtedly belongs to this older boyfriend she's got; a leather jacket pulled over the top but kind of pointless in this type of raw, wet cold. Her hair is naturally brown but she's got highlights that have faded to a dirty blonde, and her eyes are hazel-green; cupid's bow lips, thin and pressed into a line most of the time; a petite nose like the kind a young child would have.

I'm definitely getting better at this. Or maybe, I figure, it could just be her. Maybe I can just remember these things about _her_.

"Earth to Jay!" Chrissy laughs and I zone back in, shoving the meatloaf into my mouth without thinking.

"Sorry."

"What lesson you got next period?"

"History. Room five."

"Sucks to be you then."

"Why's that?"

"Your teacher - Ms Watson - is a real bitch."

"Great," I groan, finishing up my lunch out of sheer habit more than anything, and make my excuse. "I've gotta go."

I don't really wait for their responses, but both girls give me a wave and a smile and I do my best to return them sincerely. There weren't girls like this in my high school back in Wisconsin - or if there were, I'd certainly never come into contact with them. Come to think of it, there weren't girls like Erin either: mysterious and captivating, like there's a million secrets hidden beneath the surface, just waiting to be uncovered.

History drags, as Jess and Chrissy implied it would. Ms Watson turns out to be less of a bitch, just more of a stickler for the rules, and I have no problem following those anyway. Someone who _does_ seem to have a problem following them, is Erin, who - it happens - is supposed to be in the class. The empty seat in front of me is the giveaway that she's not attending, and by the time the clock has ticked past the half hour mark, her lack of presence at all is confirmed. No wonder she's failing.

X

I see her at the end of school, just as I'm pulling my hood over my head to shield my face from the snow as I descend the main steps, and I see the red rawness of her hands again, clutching the leather jacket she's wearing tight around her body, like it'll do any good at all in blocking out the cold.

She looks as though she's waiting for someone, glancing at her phone every few seconds like if she doesn't, it's not going to ring.

"Erin!" I call, and she looks up, confused momentarily, until I make my way towards her. "Hey,"

"Hey," she says, almost warily, like she doesn't remember me from earlier. Maybe she doesn't. And then, "You managed to find a decent cup of coffee yet?"

I chuckle despite the shrieking wind and the snow stinging my face. She must be freezing. "Not yet. You need a ride or anything?"

"No, I'm uh...I'm good," she says, like I'm supposed to believe it. "Gettin' picked up so…" she indicates the phone in her hand.

"Okay. I don't mind waiting a while, if you wanna shelter in my car? It's pretty cold out here."

I'm offered a small smile, but not one that reaches her eyes; not one that shows off her dimples. "He won't be long. Thanks though, er..."

"Jay," I tell her. "Halstead."

"Halstead," she repeats, like she's toying with the idea, twisting and turning the letters, examining them in her head to determine whether or not they fit. I smile, and then an obnoxious beeping assaults my ears, accompanied by a sort-of rumbling roar from a black camaro pulling up towards us. "That's him," she says quickly - almost nervously, like she's eager to get the hell out of this parking lot.

I don't get a goodbye. Erin just darts towards the car, her red fingers fumbling at the door handle in the cold before it opens and she's safe from the bitter wind. I offer a small wave that isn't returned, but is stared at by dark eyes, sunken in a pale face framed with long, dark, greasy hair: her boyfriend, I determine.

Making my way back across the parking lot towards my own car, I squint against the barrage of hail assaulting my skin like tiny bullets, watching as Erin drives off and out of the school before I finally gain shelter from the weather in the 300.

By the time I get home, my dad is already waiting, expecting a play by play of my day, armed with a list of questions about what homework I have and when I'm going to get it done. I answer some, deflect others and trudge upstairs because my jeans are soaked through from standing with Erin.

Turning on some music, I shrug out of the wet material and pull on a pair of sweats from the set of drawers opposite my bed. The smell of washing detergent fills my nose with a false meadow scent, and I almost shove them back in the drawer and look for something else to put on, when I realise all of my clothes will smell like that anyway, because they're not washed _right_ any more. None of it's right.

There's a knock on my door before it pushes open to reveal Patsy, my dad's replacement wife who seems nice enough, but isn't - and is never _going_ to be - my mom.

"How was your day?" she asks like she cares, and maybe she does. But I don't care if she cares or not. I just want to get out of here.

"Fine," I shrug. "Meatloaf's pretty bad."

She lets out a chuckle which I think is probably forced, but again, I don't care. "I was thinking of making lasagne for dinner. That's your favourite right?"

I appreciate the gesture. But she doesn't make it right. Not like my mom made it. "Actually, I'm pretty full still from that meatloaf. Crappy as it was. Maybe I'll just grab something later."

"Or you'll eat what Patsy's suggested," my dad replies, appearing in the doorway like an apparition. "Because that's what we do in this house."

It's what we did in our old house too, but this isn't that, and things are different. Except, we all know I'm not going to win this. "I'll just have a little," I say, the words feeling like glass as I crunch them out.

Patsy smiles and my dad nods and I feel like a fraud. At that, they leave, satisfied, and I pull the stuff out of my bag, placing it on my desk so at least I can lose myself in the Great Plague of Western Europe. My hands settle on the travel mug, and as I set it down, I wonder, absently, what Erin's doing.

I'm a hundred percent sure it isn't homework.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- A HUGE thank you for your lovely reviews and the favourites I've gotten for this story already. Please keep them coming :)**

 **This chapter comes with a WARNING: mentions of drugs and some strong language. If that offends you, maybe don't read this chapter.**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

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Dangerous Love

My phone buzzes, somewhere amidst the haze of last night's bourbon, and I reach for it before it wakes Charlie. It takes way too long for my eyes to focus enough to read the time, but when they finally zero in on the digits, I realise I'm going to miss the bus. Again.

My head thumps as I pull on my jeans - discarded somewhere on the floor when Charlie took them off last night - and find a shirt and sweater warm enough to keep out the cold. I need to get a coat at some point but it's kind of hard to steal something so obvious. Even Charlie isn't _that_ good.

I consider asking him to drop me but he was pissed enough collecting me yesterday, let alone going back there this morning. So I search my pockets for change, find none, and guiltily search his. There's just enough that I'll be able to catch the public bus, and so scraping my hair into some sort of messy ponytail, I head out of the door without looking in a mirror. Good job, I figure, because the sight isn't gonna be pretty.

It's raining. The clouds are literally firing icy sprays of bullets so hard they sting my skin and soak through my clothes before I've even reached the bus stop. Maybe if the weather lets up at the end of the day, I'll get myself a hat and maybe some gloves so my fingers don't stop working altogether. Nobody's noticed - yet - how red they get in the cold; how I can't bend them even enough to hold a pen. They bend just enough right now for me to tug down the sleeves of the sweater so the acrylic fibres shield my skin just a little.

Luckily the bus comes and I can shelter in the warmth - if only for the ten minute ride to school. Once I'm trudging the final few meters in grey slush that my boots seem to welcome through their crappy excuse for soles, it's clear that classes have already started, and not a single student barring me is out of place.

I get judged by the janitor as I pass the lockers on the way to bio - the only lesson I plan on sticking around for although it's pretty masochistic now that there probably isn't a hope in hell I'll manage to graduate, let alone do anything with forensics in the future. But...school's warm. Home isn't.

At the door, Mr Davies looks at me, then his watch, and back at me in a pathetic attempt to imply that I'm late. We can all tell the time: it's obvious it's later than 7:30. I just shove past him with my head down - the guy should be grateful I'm here - and make it to my seat beside the guy who smells like mint and cinnamon.

"Hey," he smiles once Mr Davies has gotten over himself enough to start actually teaching. He's looking at me like he's my friend, in this weird kind of concerned way. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering." _Am I?_ "And you're soaking. Here," he whispers, pushing his travel mug towards me. "Made it how you like."

 _With a couple shots of alcohol in it? Doubt it._ And then I get this weird realisation that this morning, when this guy was making his coffee, he actually thought of me. Like, consciously put extra beans in his no doubt fancy grinder, so there's a stronger concentration of caffeine. I should probably thank him, but he's looking at me in this intense way that would probably be creepy if it was coming from Artie three desks ahead, but isn't because he looks...well, yeah, not like Artie. So, curling my fingers as best I can around the stainless steel, I take a sip in the realisation that I actually _am_ freezing, then wince as the hot liquid scalds my tongue.

"You incapable of bringing coffee at a decent temperature?" I ask, not really sure why, because as the words spill out of my mouth I catch his blue eyes frowning like he's offended maybe. Blue eyes. Shit. How do I even _know_ that?

But then, without missing a beat, he shrugs and tilts his head a little to the right so I catch this mix of musk and cinnamon and mint so delicious it kind of makes my mouth water. "I'll try again tomorrow."

"Mr Halstead," Mr Davies drones, raising his caterpillar eyebrows so they almost form one long, grey slug across his forehead. "You're discussing the answer to my question with Miss Lindsay, I take it?"

In a somewhat surprising response, the guy whose first name I can't remember just lifts his eyes so they meet our ass of a teacher's. "Yeah: Muscular, glandular and epithelial."

I fight my smirk. Guy's smart too.

The slug separates back into two furry caterpillars and nothing more is said. That goes for the guy next to me too; he's silent for the rest of the lesson as he scrawls notes across his paper.

"You forgot my name," he tells me once the bell has signalled the end of first period and we're gathering our books (or, he's gathering his, and I'm just fingering the cuffs of my sweater. How the actual fuck does he know that?! "It's Jay. And I'm happy to help you study, if you need it."

"In your fancy house with your fancy coffee? No thanks."

At that, he looks confused. "Just thought you could use the help," he shrugs. "Seeing as you didn't write any notes today or yesterday, and you skipped on math too."

"I'm good," I reply, probably a bit too bitterly but fuck him because he doesn't know shit.

He shrugs again. "Okay."

We walk the corridor in silence until I get over myself and decide I'm not about to sit through English Lit just to prove a point. I turn without warning - and I know from the way Jay furrows his eyebrows at me that he wants to ask where I'm going, but he's not going to - and head towards the exit. School's warm, sure. But so is McDonald's.

X

Time passes achingly slowly when you're sitting alone with a rumbling belly, trying not to fantasize over fries and chicken nuggets. I've got to start setting my alarm early enough that I have time to grab _anything_ from the refrigerator before leaving so I don't have people leaving me pity food with a look of condolence like someone's just died.

The clock on the wall finally ticks past 4pm and after the hailstorm outside has let up enough that I'm not going to get bruises from the force of the ice pellets, I head to Bunny's place.

I really, _really_ need to stop thinking I'm going to walk into our apartment and be met without something other than a hot mess. After shoving the door hard enough to bruise my hip so it opens, I find the hallway strewn with empty bottles. It smells like rotting food, even though I was here two days ago and took out the garbage before I left for Charlie's so I could at least get some sleep in a warm bed - even if it does always come with a heavy price tag.

I find Bunny in the living room, half collapsed on the couch in the shirt she was wearing the last time I saw her, eyes sunken into black recesses formed by days-old makeup. It's damn near freezing, and I pull my jacket tighter around me, even though every layer I'm wearing is damp from this morning's walk to the bus stop.

"Erin?" she croaks out pathetically, barely even lifting her head from where it's hanging over the edge of torn fabric. "That you?"

"Yeah," I mumble, glancing around at the sprinkling of needles on the floor.

"You heading to school?"

"I left for school _two days_ _ago_ mom," I grit out, bending carefully to pick up the evidence of her latest binge. If DCFS decide to pay a visit, I'd be out of here.

"Are you sure?"

"That I haven't been here in over forty-eight hours and my own mother didn't even know I was gone? Yeah. I'm sure."

"Don't be a bitch Erin," Bunny grunts, finally managing to lift her head enough to adjust her position on the couch. It turns out to be a bad move.

I only just dodge the vomit spilling from her mouth and onto the floor as she coughs up the contents of her stomach.

"Look what you made me do!" she shrieks, coughing and then hurling all over again. I try and hide the wince that escapes me, but Bunny doesn't notice anyway and just narrows her eyes. "Why are you here?"

 _I don't know._

I ignore her and continue tidying as best I can, gathering all of the needles and empty bottles to dump them in the trash. Although she should, Bunny doesn't move from the couch to shower or change, just lies there watching me like I'm an inconvenience as I clean up her shit. When she comes down from her highs, there are two very different ways in which she behaves: subdued and remorseful - guilty, even; or like this: angry and argumentative.

Guess I'm staying at Charlie's again tonight.

X

"You bring anything for dinner?" Charlie asks before he's even let me inside. I don't know where he thinks I'd get the money or how I'd be able to shove a frozen meal up my sweater without being seen. My face, as much as I try and hide the expression it's trying to wear, gives me away. "It's okay," he shrugs. "I got it."

I slide past him and head to the bathroom to strip off my damp clothes and put on the clean set I've brought from Bunny's. No luck on the gloves front though.

I hear Charlie ordering pizza and already my belly is clawing for any kind of cheese and bread it can get. Not surprisingly, Bunny had nothing worth bringing - the handful of rotting carrots and week-old carton of milk I found in the refrigerator causing the offending smell so I threw them in the trash.

I spend a couple minutes just _being_ in the bathroom so I don't have to have his hands on me yet, but finally drag myself up off of the toilet seat and out into the living room, grateful for the heat and a floor without needles. It's ironic, I think sometimes, that I stay with a dealer because his place is in better shape than mine.

A young kid delivers the pizza and leaves without a tip, but I can't find it in me to care when I'm this hungry and for some reason, my mind flits to Jay with his travel mug of coffee, probably sitting down to a huge family dinner in a dining room that has huge paintings on the walls and expensive glassware on the table.

We eat quietly, the tv showing some Simpson's re-run I've seen a ton of times but don't mind watching again. And that's when he comes out with it. Says the words like they're nothing.

"You can't keep eating and sleeping here for free."

I know that, but it's not _exactly_ for free, and Charlie knows that too. I refuse to spell out the unspoken arrangement though. "What are you saying?"

"You gotta earn your keep. Heating's expensive Erin."

I don't look at him, just chew and chew and chew until I'm almost certain there's no food left in my mouth, but yet I can't seem to swallow.

"You could make that education useful. Take a few bags for your friends."

I fight the animalistic laugh rising in my throat. The only friend I have is Nadia, and she has her own supplier arrangement. I can't take the kind of payment she gives.

"Try tomorrow," he tells me.

The discussion - if it can even be called that - ends there.

The next morning, without a fog of alcohol, I'm able to wake with just enough time to shower, grab an apple from the bowl on Charlie's counter and catch the school bus. Might as well have stayed in bed though when I've barely made it through the entrance and the Principal is waiting for me.

"Erin, my office."

If he asks to look in my bag, I'm gonna be out of here before 8am and lose Charlie $120 worth of heroin.

We sit and he does that thing teachers do where they appear all concerned and invested in your 'well-being', whatever the fuck that is.

"Erin," he sighs, "you're failing every class you're taking except biology, and even then your grade isn't great. Do you have any problems at home we need to know about?"

 _My mom's an addict and I spend half the time living with a dealer?_ "No."

"We've tried to get a hold of your mom but she hasn't called us back."

"She works a lot."

"Here's the thing Erin. Your attendance in class is less than 30% and if both that and your grades don't pick up, we'll have no choice but to suspend you indefinitely."

I stare at him, not knowing what response I'm supposed to give.

"Do you understand Erin?"

"Yes." I _understand_ that if I get suspended, I can't sell the junk and Charlie's not gonna like that.

"We'll be monitoring your attendance and your grades closely from now on."

I continue to stare.

"You're free to go."

I leave, careful not to tip my bag over and get myself a one-way ticket to a shelter and/or a punishment from Charlie. Swallowing my sigh, I head along the corridor to history, mentally scoping potential areas to pick up a sale.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - Thank you to all of the lovely readers who took the time to leave a review last chapter. To answer a common question, yes - Hank will appear in this fic, though I won't tell you in what capacity. You gotta keep reading to find out ;)**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

January in Chicago is freezing. It's not the same kind of cold as you get in Wisconsin; it's a cruel, biting wind that nips and stings as soon as you're outside, accompanied almost always by hail or snow so that even a walk from the parking lot into school renders you numb to the bone.

I curse the fact that I've forgotten my gloves this morning, and shove my books into my bag from their place on the passenger seat so that my hands are free to carry both travel mugs. Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I throw the door of the 300 open into the wind, grab the mugs of coffee and manage to use my body to shut the door.

Nobody lingers out in the parking lot or the quad, and so the hallways are full of noise as I make my way towards biology, mentally recounting Brenda's navy pant suit, light pink blouse and new lipstick. It's become a daily ritual - remembering details about the receptionist - to train my brain to consider things that others might deem insignificant.

I almost stop in my tracks as I enter the lab and look towards the questionably-still-somehow-working boiler and see Erin in her seat next to my empty one, eyes rimmed with red and skin looking raw from the cold, but still...she's early.

"So you finally made the school bus," I state, more than question as I sit the travel mugs onto our lab table, resting my bag on my seat so I can lift the books I need out of there. "For you," I say, indicating the mug nearest her while I straighten my shit and drop my mostly-empty bag onto the floor so I can sit beside Erin. She's looking at me with this strange expression, her lips pursed together in something that isn't quite a frown, but definitely isn't a smile either.

"You made me coffee?"

I shrug, like it's no big deal, even though it kind of isn't but also...yeah I've been excited for this class for the past five days. "You like it stronger than me. I little creamer wouldn't hurt you know."

Those lips of hers curl up into this heady combination of a smirk and a smile that shows off her dimples and makes something inside of my stomach flop around in the best way.

"I like dark things," she says, curling her fingers around the stainless steel and watching my face as she takes a sip. I have no idea if she's referring only to the coffee, or whether her words are a metaphor for something else, but I'm pretty sure in this moment, watching Erin drink my coffee is going to become my new favourite thing.

"So?" I question, waiting for her comments like a small child seeks praise from its teacher.

"Needs work," she replies with a smirk and I'm not sure whether she's being serious or toying with me but I don't give even a single crap. "More sugar next time, but not bad."

She sets the cup back on the wooden table and says in this raspy almost-whisper that sends tingles down my neck, "You're getting better Halstead."

I love the way she says my name like that. I reply it in my head for the duration of the lesson and miss Mr Davies' monologue on reproductive cells, but I've done this module already and I'm pretty sure if I need the notes, they'll be buried somewhere in one of my desk drawers.

By the time the bell rings signalling the end of class, I have no recollection of the time since Erin said my name, and I walk to math in a daze. She doesn't follow me and her seat the following period remains empty. I try (and fail) not to care.

X

I spot her at the end of the day - in the library, weirdly enough. There's a frown etched into her forehead, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration and I have an overwhelming urge to kiss that frown away. Quickly, I right myself because this girl absolutely _can not_ know that.

"Hey," I manage, keeping the words to a minimum so I don't accidentally trip over my own clumsy tongue.

Erin looks up from her book, her eyebrows releasing the frown they've captured so her skin is all soft and smooth again. "Hey."

"You mind if I sit here?"

She indicates the free seat and that's as good a reply as any. I place my books down and take a seat opposite her, fighting the urge to ask her all sorts of questions until, "Didn't think I'd see you here." It's not really a question per se, even though my intonation implies it is, so I don't have any right to expect an answer. Still, her shoulders raising and dropping to form a shrug, I get a: "Guess I'm failing."

"Not everything."

"What?"

"You're not failing everything," I say, "At least, not bio."

A small forced laugh leaves Erin's lips. "And I bet Mr Davies is devastated about that."

We're shushed then, by the librarian who seems hell bent on doing her job of making this a silent study area. With an eyeroll, Erin obliges and therefore I do too. I look at the book she's reading and notice the section is on linear equations - exactly what she'd missed in class today.

Once the librarian has rounded the bookshelves towards the edge of the room, I lower my voice to a whisper, "If you'd been in math class this morning, you wouldn't need to study."

All I get is a cold stare, then a raised eyebrow.

"Where were you?"

"Around."

"Around where?" I press, not sure why I need the answer, but wanting it anyway.

"School."

I'm not getting any more than that, clearly. "You could try coming to each of your classes." I have no idea why I'm still talking, and yet, my lips won't seem to stop moving. "See what these lines are all about."

The joke falls flat and Erin barely acknowledges my efforts, just flicking her eyelids up momentarily so I'm struck by the multitude of different green flecks in her irises. It's as good as saying ' _we're done here_ ', and so I finally shut up, opening my own book to study.

The hail pounds harder against the window and the sky seems to groan under the weight of the clouds, all dark and ominous outside. I sigh under my breath, re-reading the same section of my page for what feels like the hundredth time until Erin finally looks up at me.

"Why're you here?"

I meet her gaze, leaving a finger in my book so I can find my place easily - not that there's any point because I haven't been concentrating on anything but the girl opposite me since I got here. "To study."

She makes this noise that I think is a cross between a scoff and a forced laugh. "You could study at home. I bet you have a fancy-ass room dedicated just for that purpose."

Girl has me all wrong. "Even if I did, I'd prefer to study here. Besides, I could ask you the same."

"I'm escaping my mom," she deadpans without a hint of humor. Still, I can't figure her out at all, so I'm not sure whether this is just a joke.

"Same for me, I guess." No need to elaborate on my new family set-up.

One of her eyebrows raise and like a Pavlovian dog, my stomach flops in the best way. "Let's get out of here."

"And go where? Have you seen the weather?"

I watch as Erin gives the windows a cursory glance, like she's humouring me more than anything. "You've got a car right?"

"Right."

"Then let's go."

X

I haven't been in Chicago long enough to get accustomed with the city's roads yet, and Erin is more than a little late on giving directions just before I need to make a turn so combining that with the slippery road surface, it's a damn miracle we actually _make it_ to the diner she says serves the best chili fries in the city.

We park up on the street in a part of the city I haven't been before. It's pretty dark already, and from the looks of things, streetlamps aren't considered important. I'm not frightened, but I don't like thought of leaving the 300 somewhere out of view. Still, Erin knows this place and appears to have eaten here numerous times, so I shove my concerns regarding the safety of my wing mirrors and the dinner status back at home to the back of my mind because she's busy telling me that "this could be our place, you know, to study. You can be my tutor."

I'm not sure she's actually _asking_ me if I'll teach her the information we get in the math classes she seems intent on not showing up to, but even if I'm being _told_ I'm tutoring her, it's not like I'm going to protest any time soon.

A bell dings as we make our way through the door, and I watch as Erin eyes up all the empty tables, seems to hesitate, then chooses a booth by the window by at the far side of the diner.

"If they come for our order, I'll have the chili fries and a coke," she instructs, grabbing her bag. "I've gotta go to the bathroom real quick."

I'm just about to pick up a menu when I see her shoot a quick glance to some guy sitting at the bar right as she heads through the swing door to the bathrooms. I pick up the menu but glance momentarily at the guy who straightens his cap, then also heads through the door after her...or, maybe not _after her_ , but...in the same direction. Fighting some weird, overwhelming urge to follow him, I try and focus on the various types of toppings you can order for your fries, but wind up settling on chili because, for perhaps no reason other than blind faith, I trust that Erin knows the right choice to make.

She returns around two minutes later looking no different than when she left in the first place, not that I'm sure what I'm looking for. Sometimes, I wonder whether the whole training-my-brain for the Police Academy thing is making me unreasonably paranoid.

A middle-aged woman who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but working in this diner comes to take our order, and I make myself look like even more of a lap dog by choosing exactly the same as Erin. It seems to make her happy though, because for the first time this afternoon, her dimples come out to play and I suddenly find myself not giving a shit whether she thinks I'd do anything she says or not, because those things are like her own personal currency.

"So," I manage to verbalise, once my thoughts have gathered enough that I can form a sentence, "you want me to tutor you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You said this could become our place and I can be your tutor."

"That's not the same as saying I _want_ you to be my tutor."

Oh. I force myself not to dip my head in embarrassment, but my eyes are already drifting down to my fingernails.

"But I _am_ failing," she shrugs, "so even if I don't want you to tutor me, I kind of don't have a choice. I guess I could ask Artie, if you're n-"

"-I'll do it," I gabble. "Tutor you. I'll do it."

Erin's lips curve into a lopsided smile and _Jesus Christ_ I want to kiss her. And then I remember her boyfriend.

"So, _Jay Halstead_ ," I love it when she says my name like that - all raspy and thick, "Why'd you move to Chicago?"

"My mom died and my dad decided to marry someone who didn't wanna live in Wisconsin." I don't know why those words leave my lips - blunt and abrupt, like it's _her_ fault I'm pissed.

"Can you blame her?" is Erin's response, and I have no idea why, but it makes me smile a little. "Wisconsin? _Really_?"

"It's a really nice place."

"It's the sticks," she decides, without any apparent basis. "You live in a small town by a lake and a wood?"

"So what if I did?"

"Such a cliche," she says so lowly I almost don't hear her; I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to.

"So what? You'd be opposed to some ice fishing and making s'mores on a campfire?"

She seems to consider this idea for a moment before she shrugs again. "Wouldn't be the worst night I guess."

I shouldn't be imagining the girl opposite me in one of my plaid shirts, all big and baggy and hanging by her knees, standing in front of me while I help her hold a fishing pole, my hands either side of her so she's pressed against my chest and I can breathe her in. I am, however, pretty sure that vision is burned into my brain to be looped on repeat whenever I can't sleep or can't pay attention in class or...just whenever, I guess.

"You gonna eat them, or…" Erin's voice brings me back and I discover our order has been brought while I was off in fantasy land. She just smiles a little, shoves a fry into her mouth like she hasn't eaten in weeks, then moans at the taste. _Good_ _God_ , I could listen to her do that all day. And all night.

X

"You haven't told me anything about you," I say, shoving her playfully on her shoulder as we walk the few yards back to the 300. I'm pretty sure I'm high on chili fries and Erin.

"That's a conversation for another time," she replies. "Besides, nobody has _that_ long."

I'm confused by her response, but I don't question it, just pull my phone from my jeans pocket when I feel it vibrating.

"Shit!" I curse, seeing my dad's name on the caller i.d. "Um, you mind?"

She just waves her 'no' into mid air as I unlock the car so she can shelter from the cold. Her hands are already raw and we've only been outside for a minute. Girl needs to wear some gloves.

"Hey dad, I'm so-" is all I manage before a string of angry questions practically deafen me over the speaker. I'd hold it away from my ear to soften the blow but I don't want Erin to hear.

"Patsy spent hours cooking dinner and it's ruined!" he bellows once the questions have finally let up enough for me to have explained that I'm tutoring someone and we lost track of time. I leave out any of the details regarding my _actual_ whereabouts and company, instead offering the reply that I'm at the school library and I'm done now anyway, so I'll hurry home. I mumble my apology regarding dinner and sigh as I press the call end button.

"You worry stepmom and dad?" Erin asks, too loaded to be merely teasing as I slide into the car and slam the door shut behind me.

I shake my head. "They're just pissed that dinner's ruined. I'm sorry but I've gotta get home. I'll drop you first. Where do you live?"

She makes an expression I can't fathom, then offers the smallest of smiles. "Don't worry about it. I can walk from here. Thanks for the fries."

She reaches for the door handle but I stop her. "Woah! You can't walk from here! Your house must be miles away." We're nowhere near school.

"It's not far. I'm good."

"Erin, it's freezing. Let me take you home."

"Really Halstead, I'm fine. Just let me walk."

She's out of the car before I've even registered her hand on the door handle this time, and so I watch in my rearview as she heads back towards the diner and around the corner. Reaction skills need work.

I sit for probably too long, confused as to what's just happened and why, but then get my shit together and make a u-turn so I can follow her and pick her up. The snow is falling - only lightly, but it'll probably turn heavier soon - and she isn't wearing much to keep her warm. Come to think of it, she's _never_ wearing enough to keep her warm.

Once I'm back on the road I need, I slow enough to be able to stop, but I can't see her anywhere. I check every mirror and almost swerve into a mailbox because I'm so busy searching for Erin and not watching the traffic, but she's literally nowhere. I decide she might have gone back into the diner, maybe (hopefully) to wait out the weather or call her boyfriend for a ride. I decide that's her reason for not wanting to be dropped off - someone might get the wrong idea. At least, I _hope_ that's her reason, because if it isn't, I have no idea why she could possibly prefer to walk in this temperature.

"Your cell work alright?" My dad asks as I close the front door behind me, the tone of his voice indicative of wanting only one answer.

"Yes."

"Then if you're planning on not coming home until God knows what time, call us, so we can at least assume you're still alive!"

We both know this isn't about his concern for my well-being, just about some burned chicken.

"I'm sorry," I say, even though I'm not. "I should've called."

"Damn right you should've. And it's not me you owe the apology to."

I turn to Patsy who looks as uncomfortable as I feel in this fucking house. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she says softly. "You were studying. I'm glad: it's important to keep your grades up if you want to make it to the academy." I almost feel bad for not liking her, but I just can't find it in me to care.

My dad just grits his teeth in a sign of not wanting to say anything more, and I take my cue to head upstairs.

X

For the first time in a week, I wake to a clear sky. The ground is white but the sun is doing its best to melt the snow that arrived last night so that it looks like the city is covered in glitter. I'm running late, I realise, and throw on the first pair of jeans and plaid shirt I find in my closet before grabbing my car keys.

Patsy is waiting by the front door - sans my dad, apparently - with two slices of buttered toast. She hands them to me with a smile that makes me feel guilty for not being able to like her, saying softly,

"If you stay late after school, just make sure you call your dad."

I nod, mumble a 'thanks' and head out of the door without a second glance - or a cup of coffee.

I'm stifling a yawn by the time I get to biology, but my day gets instantly brighter when I see Erin sitting in her seat.

"Hey," I say, taking my own seat beside her and noting my spare travel mug she'd drunk from last week. "You made it home okay then. Didn't see where you went."

"Stalker much?"

I grin, "Just call it protective."

"Uh huh," she grins, something of a genuine smile passing her lips before she indicates the stainless steel cylinder in front of her. "I filled it for us. I don't have one of my own so you gotta share."

I grin again, my arms itching to pull her towards me in a hug as she watches me snatch the mug from the table. The liquid burns my throat but not just because of the temperature: it tastes like concentrated espresso.

"Jeez, how many beans you grind to put in this?"

She actually laughs a little at that. "You think I own one of those fancy coffee grinders? It's the freeze-dried stuff Halstead. You're slumming it today."

I take another sip and wince. It's the worst drink I think I've ever tasted. "And you question _my_ coffee-making skills?!"

Erin steals the mug from my hands, her fingers brushing mine as she does and I feel a surge spark along my hand and up my arm. My breath hitches of its own accord and I do my best to control my breathing as I watch her take a less than lady-like gulp and smack her lips together once she's swallowed, just to prove a point.

"Maybe you just can't handle it."

I take the mug back once more, craving the touch of our fingertips together just as much as I am her dimples. "I can handle it."

Mr Davies interrupts our moment, clearing his throat as he begins explaining about nuclei and I'm already counting down the minutes until the bell rings so we can continue our banter in the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- Thank you SO MUCH for the lovely reviews last chapter. I'm so sorry this has taken so long. I've been desperate to write but have been so swamped with work. Damn National Curriculum!**

 **Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait. Much love x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I catch my reflection in the mirror above Charlie's bathroom sink, see the red around my eyes; the greying skin; chapped lips and look away in disgust. Splashing warm water at my face, followed by a lather of soap that dries my cheeks even more, I vow to make more of an effort in the hallways.

Not selling his junk seems more costly than getting caught at this point.

I bend over for the towel and wince as my jeans rub against my thighs. It's not that I don't want to sleep with Charlie but he's not always gentle, especially if he's had a few drinks. It's just that he forgets, sometimes, what I like and what I don't and I know he never means to hurt me.

There's a strange mix of scents each time I turn my head fast enough that my hair bounces against my shoulders: cigarettes, stale booze, Charlie's deodorant I borrowed yesterday; his sweat from last night. I wish I'd woken earlier so that I have time to grab a shower rather than a quick splash of water on my face, but I didn't and I don't.

Charlie doesn't wake, or if he does, he remains still and silent as I grab my jacket, school books and my bag before heading out of the door.

I'm early enough to school that I can spend some time in the hallway, gauging the potential clientele and figuring out who has what class.I should probably spend some of that time in the bathroom under the hand dryer to warm up from the inevitable snowstorm I'd gotten caught up in. Still...

"Erin!"

I turn because I know that enthusiasm at seeing me could only come from one person. Nobody else would care that I'm standing in the hallway. Jay's making his way towards me with his usual grin and I really want for it _not_ to make my legs a little weaker.

"We don't even have bio first period."

"That's not the reason I've been early."

It's a lie. Kind of.

Jay just raises an eyebrow in the most disarming way and I momentarily forget the reason I'm resting against the lockers. "So what other lesson should be grateful you're here?"

"Geography." He smiles. "Let me guess; you're great at that too."

"You think I'm great at other stuff?"

I roll my eyes because of course, _that's_ what he chooses to focus on, but by the time I'm back to looking at him again, he's got a frown creeping across his forehead.

"You're soaking."

I look down like I haven't realised how wet my clothes are from scoping out potential areas for selling out in the parking lot: winter has to let up some time after all. When my eyes meet his again, I manage a shrug, though for some reason he makes it harder to lie than it should be. "I'll dry off."

"Here." Jay shrugs himself out of the jacket he's wearing and drapes it over my shoulders.

"I don't need your clothes."

He frowns. "I know, but you'll catch a cold."

I shrug again. It's all I seem to be capable of doing for some reason. "I'll be fine." I make to hand the jacket back because not even Charlie's given me his clothes to wear before. I'm not some damn church poor box charity case. But Jay stills my hands with each of his and a jolt surges through me. Maybe it's a warning.

"If you get sick, we won't be able to study and then we can't get chili fries." He offers a small, timid smile. "So call it a selfish reason. _I_ want you to wear it."

I don't get an option to respond because he's walking away, wearing just his plaid shirt and jeans and no jacket - because yeah, I'm still wearing it and it smells like mint and musk and cinnamon. I want to throw it back at him but really, I don't want to give it back at all.

X

Business for the day goes better than I'd anticipated. As it turns out, I don't even really have to do the hard sell because with the stress of exams and final deadlines for assignments, people are pretty much looking for a 's a part of me that feels guilty for being the one to bring this stuff into the hallway: be responsible for any potential overdoses, any reasoning of ' _just one more shot_ ', any spiral that ends up in the gutter like Bunny. But then another part of me, a much bigger part, is more concerned with sleeping in a warm bed; eating an actual meal for dinner; showering for longer than two minutes without fear that the water or the electric'll get shut off.

 _Only you can look out for you_ , Charlie told me one day. It's the only advice that's ever stuck.

I find Jay in the library. Not that I'm looking. _Really_ , I'm not.

He's hunched over the table looking deep in concentration. I watch as his hand scrawls notes across the lined paper in front of him at lightning speed. It's fascinating - the way he writes. It's simultaneously messy and beautiful; all looping and wild black against stark white. At once though, he stops, clutching the biro within his fist, and looks up with that smile he must have been perfecting since the day he was born.

"Hey," his voice is low but bright and when his eyes register the jacket he leant me earlier - still covering me because why the hell would I want to take it off? - they're practically dancing. "You warm enough?"

"No sign of a sore throat," I reply, taking a seat opposite him. I notice a light dusting of stubble on his face - the kind that comes from a few days without a shave but instead of looking untidy, it makes him look older - like we haven't both got another year and a half of school to endure before he gets into an ivy-league college no doubt, and I do anything not to become Bunny.

"That's good. Wouldn't want to have to visit you in your sick bed so we could study."

He has no idea of the double meaning behind his words, and I keep my lips in position so I'm smiling. I think. "How was your day?"

I almost laugh at that. Nobody has ever asked me that question. I thought it was reserved for bored mid-forties housewives who've spent all day cleaning the house and worrying their husband might be cheating with his secretary. "I didn't get an F on my essay."

"So it was good then?" he smiles, stretching back in his chair with zero pretence about studying. "Here early, no F, the cafeteria had decent food for once…"

"Good? No. Less crappy than usual? Maybe."

"Aren't you the optimist?" There's a smirk tugging at his lips, those blue irises of his eyes so warm and happy. It must be great, I figure, to look at life through Jay Halstead's lense.

"Realist." I reply, opening my book in a mock-show of studying as the librarian passes our table on her rounds of making sure nobody has anything remotely resembling fun.

"Guess you don't need my help then," He says, and I know he's joking but the thought of not spending this time with him - not prolonging the inevitable and going home to find Bunny comatose or Charlie already buzzed - makes my heart lurch way more than it should considering I've known the guy a week.

I play it down, "There's a long way to go before I'm at a C."

He snaps his book shut and gestures for me to do the same. "C'mon then. We can't study on an empty stomach."

The thought of eating chili fries with him again makes me giddy. Actually fucking _giddy_ like I'm in junior high all over again. I force my grin into submission and make my shoulders rise to a shrug.

"Only if you're buying."

"Of course."

X

We park up on the same street as last time and head to the diner while Jay pretends not to be cold and I pretend not to notice that he is. He takes a seat at the same booth we shared last time and I try and ignore the way the guy sitting at the counter is watching me. I've been passing him Charlie's drugs for the past year and I still don't even know his name.

We order and the guy is still looking at me and I decide it'll be best to just sell him the junk so he'll leave and Jay won't notice some creepy middle-aged loser eyeing us without restraint.

"I'm just gonna head to the bathroom," I tell him, taking hold of my bag.

He looks at my hand on the strap, tries (I think) not to frown and read into it. "Okay."

Like I have to justify my actions, stupidly, I make to explain about the bag, then think better of it just in time. "I...okay."

"Okay," he repeats again, accompanied with something like a chuckle. "Wouldn't steal from your bag but can't promise the same when it comes to your fries."

I can't even manage an eye roll at that. He's way too good for me.

It's no more than twenty seconds before the guy meets me in the dimly-lit hallway outside of the restrooms, handing over his usual $20 that I swap for the little baggie. It feels so dirty somehow, like this, hurried and probably unsafe, with the smell of the men's urinals mixing with the grease from the kitchen, and as the guy heads into the men's restroom, I wonder whether it's time to swap this diner for something a little better. If I can make enough at school, I won't need to come here and Jay can experience something better than these substandard chili fries. Poor guy obviously hasn't eaten them before if he's been convinced by my statement that they're the best in the city. That, or he's happy to eat them regardless.

Somehow, I have a feeling it could be the latter.

By the time I head back out to where he's sitting, he's talking on the phone in a tone that implies whoever is on the other end is less than happy, but he mutters a curt 'see you later' and hangs up when I reach the table.

"You need to get home?" I ask.

He seems to contemplate my words but shakes his head, "No."

A heavy silence weighs over the table, interrupted - thankfully - by the arrival of our fries and cokes.

"You know that guy?" Jay asks suddenly, nodding over my shoulder and I already know who he's referring to. Sure enough, when I turn round, the man I sold to earlier is heading out of the diner with clear evidence of having used.

"No."

"He was here when we were last time," he tells me, like I don't know. "He followed you when you went to the restroom last time too."

"I don't know him."

Jay only looks at me while shoving a fry dripping with sauce into his mouth. "Okay."

"So you have a girlfriend back in Wisconsin?" I ask, desperate to talk about anything else.

"No. I was kind of...busy."

"With what?"

He chews his mouthful, swallows and then takes a large gulp of coke like the actions are helping him form his answer. Maybe they are. He shrugs then. "Stuff."

"Well the girls on the table next to you in bio seem to like you. They were talking about asking you to the dance."

"Chrissy and Jess?"

"And the fact that you know who they are proves it isn't one-sided," I smirk, making to jab at him with my fry. It results in accidentally dripping sauce all over the table.

Jay laughs and scoops it up with his finger. "Don't waste it."

"So you got a preference?"

"About what?"

"Which one you'd rather go to the dance with."

"I uh…" he starts, toying with a few fries but not bringing them to his mouth. "I'd rather go with you."

"Oh." Is this him _asking_ me? "I don't really go to school dances."

What I mean is, I've never been. Charlie wouldn't even entertain the idea of being my date even if I wanted to go. Which I never have. I don't.

Going with Jay wouldn't be the worst thing in the world though.

"Oh."

"You should pick Jess. Chrissy's a real bitch."

He nods. "Noted."

We eat in silence after that. It's not uncomfortable, but it _is_ a little awkward. I'm almost grateful for my phone ringing until I see the called i.d: Bunny. I silence it but after a few seconds it rings again.

Jay speaks through a mouthful of food. "You gonna answer it?"

 _No_. "I'll call her back." I silence the call again but it rings for a third time.

"She seems pretty insistent." It's accompanied by a small chuckle and I force a smile.

"Sorry," I slide out of the booth and head towards the door. I don't care that it' freezing outside. I'm still wearing Jay's jacket and I have no idea what kind of Bunny I'm going to get on the other end of the line and Jay _can not_ hear.

"Hello?" I chance, once I'm out of earshot.

"Erin!" She's gushing. She's sober. "Where are you?"

"Studying."

"Look at you, working so hard," she all but coos and already the irritation is creeping into my voice.

"What do you need mom?"

"I just wondered when you were coming home. I'm sorry about before baby," she sighs. "It was a bad couple of days."

I don't really know what the time is, but it can't be far after five. "I won't be too long."

"Okay. You know we're out of groceries, so if you have any money with you, would you mind picking up a few things?" And there it is. "Maybe some milk and coffee. Oh, and get yourself some of those cookies you like - you know, the ones with the coloured sprinkles. I always used to buy those for you."

"After a binge," I can't help but bite back.

There's a long sigh on the other end of the line but she doesn't take my bait. "I'll see you soon Erin."

I hang up, take a deep breath and head back inside to where Jay is finishing his final few fries.

"All good?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to drop you home?"

"I'm good from here," I say. "You should head don't wanna be late for dinner again."

He nods and throws a couple of bills on the table but seems to not have heard me properly. "You'll have to direct me to your place."

Seriously? This again? "You gotta start listening Halstead. I can walk from here. I'll catch you at school tomorrow."

He looks momentarily confused, then calls my name, "Will you call me once you get home? Let me know you're safe?"

Suddenly, it's hard to swallow. "I uh...yeah."

"See you tomorrow."

I finger the material of the cuffs of his jacket. "Yeah. See you."

X

By the time I reach our apartment, I'm pretty sure my fingers are succumbing to frostbite. I manage to balance the bags of groceries against my front as I shove my key into the flimsy lock, jiggling it until I hear the click.

I push the door open, careful not to spill the milk and eggs onto the floor, then quickly close it once I'm inside. We've learned our lesson with carelessness before: leaving a door unlocked in this building is like rolling out the red carpet for burglars.

"Erin?" Bunny calls out, her voice much brighter than the last time I saw her in this apartment.

"Yeah?"

She rounds the corner wearing a clean shirt and pair of jeans, her hair washed and brushed and her skin much less grey. "You got the groceries," she smiles almost like she's surprised. She knows me well enough by now. "Let me help you with those."

"Fridge still working?" I ask - probably too spitefully - as we head into the kitchen. She's cleaned up since the other day and the only evidence of her most recent binge is the stale smell of cigarettes lingering in the air.

She sighs and closes her eyes. "You speak to Charlie like this?"

I shrug, "Can't say I've ever asked him whether his appliances are still connected to the grid."

Almost as soon as I've finished speaking, my phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket, remembering I'm supposed to call Jay. I figure I have no right to be this disappointed that it's not his name my caller i.d. is displaying, but Charlie's.

"That him?" Bunny asks.

"Yeah."

"He's no good for you Erin."

I scoff and roll my eyes.

"What? You don't think your mother knows best?"

"I think my _mother_ should be grateful that Charlie pays his bills to keep the heat on."

Her mouth twists and turns, like she's chewing the words that have risen in her throat. "Yeah well...I've told you I'll get a job."

"I've heard that one before."

"Well Fuck you Erin!" she spits all at once. "You think I don't amount to shit, but I can _get_ a job."

Her voice is shaky, like it's threatening to betray her. I just keep my own low and level above the vibrations of my phone. "Good for you mom." I stand, heading to my room for a change of clothes. I might have to let Charlie fuck me if I stay at his place but it's better than sleeping here, shivering under thin sheets and listening to the shouting from the Latvian couple downstairs.

"Baby, don't go; don't go to his place," Bunny all but pleads, changing tack, but she's done it so many times before that I'm virtually immune to that tone.

I keep my lips pursed, just start shoving anything I think I might need into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder so that the movement sends a wave of Jay's scent through the air. I almost close my eyes at it, but I'm strong enough to resist

I manage to answer Charlie's call, holding the phone against my ear by using my shoulder.

"Hey,"

"You sell it?" is all he asks. No preamble. No 'how was your day?'

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

"I'm coming over," I tell him, noticing a few pairs of socks on the floor and adding them to my bag.

"She out of it again?"

"No actually. Just gotta get out. Can you come get me?"

I hear the sigh leave his mouth and already know I'm going to be walking. "You can't find anyone else to ask?"

I don't know how it happens, but the words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. Maybe, subconsciously, I'm trying to make Charlie jealous. "I could call Jay."

"Who's Jay?"

I bite my lip a little. Subconscious or not, maybe it's done the job. "This guy at school. He's new." And then, because my mouth must be trying to see how far it can push it, I add, "He asked me to the school dance actually."

There's a laugh at the other end - almost disbelieving and cruel. "High school kids."

I stop shoving items of clothing into my bag and sag against my mattress. "Told him I didn't want to go, obviously."

"You should," Charlie replies, no hint of joking in his voice.

"What?"

"You should go with this guy. Would be a good opportunity to sell."

"Are you kidding?"

"Do I _sound_ like I'm kidding?" He asks, and I shrug even though he can't see me.

"Guess not."

"I'll come get you," he adds, almost like it's a reward and there's a sick feeling rising in my throat because even though I'll never admit it out loud, I know what I am. "We can celebrate. I'll call you when I'm outside."

I don't get the 'okay' out of my mouth before he's hung up, so continue shoving the rest of the stuff I might need into my bag. I pass Bunny on my way out and I'm pretty sure she's eyeing the only bottle of scotch she hasn't drunk.

I wait for Charlie's call out in the hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N - I'm SO sorry it's taken so long to update. Work is killing me but it's very nearly the Easter break and I should be much more active on the writing/posting front. Thank you you lovely lot for all of your reviews and kind words.**

 **I hope you enjoy this x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

"So Jay," Chrissy asks me, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger of one hand while she uses a fork to toy a limp-looking salad with the other. "You got a date for the dance yet?"

"It's uh...not really my thing," I say.

"It's _everyone's_ thing," Chrissy scoffs, like it's optional.

"I guess I'm not the high school dance kind of guy."

"Shame," she shrugs. "I've already picked out my dress." She leans a little closer, casting a shadow over her salad. "And it's really kinda...tight."

I know I'm supposed to be enjoying this, and I should probably go to the dance so I don't look like a loser, but I really don't want to go with this girl. I don't want to go with _any_ girl, really. Except Erin, obviously. And then, like it's her job, the girl who's occupying way more of my thoughts than she should enters the cafeteria, casts her eyes over the lunch queue before spotting me, and makes her way over to where we're sitting.

"Hey," she states. I suppose it's the only word that can be used to describe her tone: there's pretty much no expression, just her stating a fact, and said fact being that she's here. In the cafeteria.

"Hey," I reply, the tone of my voice giving away my excitement at seeing her. "Missed you in history earlier."

"We were just talking about the dance," Chrissy tells Erin without letting her reply - not that my words required one. "You got a date Erin?" The exaggerated raise of the blonde's eyebrow implying she already knows (or is assuming) the answer.

"I do actually," Erin replies without taking her eyes off of me. "If the offer still stands?"

It takes me longer than it should to realise she's referring to my admission last night - that I'd rather go with her. When I finally _do_ get it though, I struggle to rein in the goofy smile I know is spreading across my face.

"Of course."

"You can pick me up at eight," she continues, like she's my master. She probably is, I figure. "I'll text you my address."

I think I manage to stammer out an "okay," but I can't be sure because I'm watching her walk away and thinking about how my heart is hammering and my ears are burning and her eyes were so damn red that she doesn't appear to have slept. I wonder if, maybe, she might have broken up with her boyfriend, and that's the reason for her agreeing to go with me. Quickly, I decide that even if it is, I don't care.

"Not your thing huh?" Chrissy asks skeptically.

I register the bitterness in her tone but don't even flinch. Next week can't come quickly enough.

X

It's safe to say that the rest of the week drags. Not the parts where I hang out with Erin, obviously. But the parts in between do. Home is the worst - where there's no distraction of osmosis or trigonometry or shitty meatloaf, just my dad and his rules and Patsy and her attempts at lasagna that's never as good as my mom's.

Finally though, Friday night arrives. I duck out while my dad is in the shower, nodding at Patsy who looks kinda like she's excited for me. Maybe she is, but I don't stop to find out. The bunch of flowers I picked up earlier are already waiting for Erin on the front seat of the 300, safely out of the way of my dad - or anyone else for that matter.

I check my phone right before I put the car into drive, making sure the address that is ingrained in my mind is the same as the one Erin had texted me earlier. It is of course, and I pull away from the curb, unable to decide whether I'm more nervous than excited. Of course I am, I figure: this girl terrifies me.

She's waiting when I pull up outside of her house, dressed in a tight dark red dress with a split up the front, her hair falling around her shoulders in loose waves and fucking _Christ_ , she's stunning. She's opening the passenger door before I've fully stopped the car so I don't get to do the whole presenting the flowers thing. I quickly snatch the bunch with my right hand so she can sit down, her presence quickly filling the car with the scent of vanilla and jasmine.

"Hey," she says softly, before I've even had the chance to speak.

"Hey yourself," I manage. (I think). "You look beautiful."

I think I detect the hint of a blush, though she looks down and her dark blonde waves cover her face so I can't see it properly. I want to brush it back - sweep it behind her ears so I can see those dimples; those eyes.

"I uh...got you these," I tell her, handing her the flowers so she'll _have_ to look up. Which she does. And I can't even begin to decipher the expression she's wearing because it's something I've never seen before.

Finally, Erin's fingers curl around the stems, brushing mine in the process and I feel that jolt up my spine and neck again, creeping across to my ears along my jawline.

"That's…" she breathes, like she's not sure what she has to say. "They're uh...they're really beautiful Jay," she adds, so softly that the sound doesn't even seem like it leaves her mouth.

"You want to take them inside? Put them in water?"

"I'll hold on to them 'til later," is her reply. "If you don't mind."

She could do anything she _wants_ and I don't think I'd mind. "Course not."

"Then let's go," she instructs, fastening her seatbelt and adjusting her purse on her lap with her knees so she can hold the flowers too.

We don't talk too much on the way. Erin seems to be content with looking out of the window and nibbling her fingernails which makes me notice how they're not painted. I kind of like that, and I'm almost surprised that I've even absorbed that information. Guess I shouldn't be. I'm almost certain I've got every detail about her memorised - and not just because I'm practising for a career in police intelligence in the future.

When we do arrive though, she's talking all at once; gabbling something about how if dances aren't my thing, she doesn't mind and I can just go home if I want. I literally don't have a clue why she'd think I don't want to be here with her because I absolutely fucking do.

"I wanna be here," I tell her honestly, "and maybe if you're lucky, I'll bust out some of my awesome dance moves."

That earns me a laugh. A proper one - with dimples and everything. "Baby, my moves will blow yours out of the water."

She chuckles, picks up her purse and opens the door, a rush of cold air slapping me in the face as I replay what she's just said over and over like a stuck record in my head. _Baby_. I want her to say it again.

"Hurry up Halstead," she instructs, shivering in the cold and trying in vain to warm her arms by rubbing her hands up and down the skin there. "It's effing freezing out here."

Somehow, my body kicks into gear even if my brain doesn't, and my fingers are pressing the button on the keychain to lock the car while simultaneously peeling my jacket off so I can drape it over Erin's shoulders. We head towards the gymnasium and I walk closer to her than I need to. I figure if she queries my proximity, I can get away with an excuse about the temperature.

She doesn't query it.

I don't move away.

X

We're around an hour and a half in when some guy on the football team called Rusek takes up a spot next to me, not at all disguising the fact that he's spiking his punch with dark liquid from a hip flask before holding it out to offer me some. I glance around quickly to see if anyone's looking before shaking my head.

"You had any more thoughts about trying out for the team?" he asks. "We could do with someone with a good left arm."

Since gym class, the guy has been bugging me to take up a spot on the school's (failing - I think) team.

"I don't know; I'm pretty busy with schoolwork and stuff."

"What? You gotta get into an Ivy league or something?"

"No," I shrug, "But-"

"Then as long as you pass, it doesn't matter, right? Besides," he shrugs, "the girls like football players." His eyes fix on some girl on the dancefloor. "You come with a date?"

"Hey," Erin says, bumping into me a little as she returns from what seems like her hundredth trip to the bathroom, and simultaneously answering his question. I think I catch a brief surprised raise of Ruzek's eyebrows, but he lowers them quickly and holds his drink up in a silent cheers before heading towards the girl he was staring at earlier. "Just think about it."

"Think about what?" Erin asks, curving her fingers round my plastic cup of punch so she can sip from it too. I grin as she brings it to her lips, holding my gaze all the while.

"Joining the football team."

"You wanna be a jock?"

"Would you still like me if I did?" I'm not even sure why I say it. My tone's light - joking (or so it seems) - but really, I want the answer.

"Keep bringing me coffee and we'll see."

That'll do, I decide, and take her hand in mine because suddenly, I'm overcome with the urge to be closer, to touch her, and the only way I can think to do it is if we're dancing. The dj does me an unexpected solid and switches up the songs so that some ballard I think I've heard before but have no idea by whom it's sung sounds out over the speakers. Erin slips her hand into mine - not entwining our fingers, but that doesn't matter because the fact that she's pressed up close, head resting against my chest so I can smell her shampoo, is making me feel like I'm dancing on a cloud anyway. I can feel her warm breath through the fabric of my shirt and God I want to kiss her so badly but I still don't know if her being her is this result of a break-up or not. She stays like that for the remainder of the song and I don't care who sings it or what it's called but it's my new favourite.

I feel her lips moving and so duck my head to catch what she's saying.

"I still haven't seen these moves you were bragging about."

"Just gotta get the right song," I reply, knowing a smile is dancing involuntarily along my lips and I couldn't do a damn thing about it even if I wanted to.

"And what song would that be?" There's a challenge in her eyes.

"Fatboy Slim: Weapon of Choice."

The admission earns me a laugh. A no-holds-barred, full-belly, eyes closed, dimples on display laugh that makes my fingertips tingle for some inexplicable reason. Once she sobers up enough to look at me, I note the raise of her left eyebrow. "Good thing the dj takes requests."

Approximately seven minutes later, I'm downing some punch in a bid to rehydrate and ward off the sweat that I desperately don't want to form anywhere on my body. Erin is smirking but generally looking happy so I really don't give a shit if I just ruined my social standing for the remainder of high school: it's worth it to see her like this. Suddenly though, the smile drops from her eyes and the dimples disappear, despite the fact that her lips are curved upwards. Her gaze flits briefly to some guy to the left of me, almost so quickly that most people wouldn't notice - but I do.

"I uh...Just, I'll be right back."

I nod, give her a smile and hold up my punch, nonchalant. "I'll be here. Cooling off."

She forces a smile - one that doesn't reach her eyes again and so, when she turns her back, I watch her head in the general direction of the bathrooms, then watch as she waits for the guy she'd just made eye contact with.

There's some sort of short discussion that transpires between them before he follows Erin out of the door and I decide I'll give it all of five minutes before I go and look for her.

It turns out though that I don't need to give it all that time because within a couple minutes, she's back.

"You okay?" I ask. I know it can't just be bathroom breaks.

"Yeah, I'm just...I feel a little sick."

"You need me to take you home?"

"You should stay," she says. "Treat everyone to more of your dancing."

We both chuckle though it's forced. "I think they've had enough for tonight; don't want to spoil them. Besides, I brought you - I should take you home."

"Really, it's fine. I can get Charlie to come get me."

 _Charlie_. So they haven't broken up. And that's why she didn't take the flowers inside. My chest suddenly feels like it's being crushed by some sort of weight. And yet, it's not like I didn't know this was a possibility, and yeah he's her boyfriend, but I brought her here and I should be the one who gets to take her home. "Let me take you." I say. "Please."

At that, she looks at me, those eyes of hers seemingly searching mine for something. I don't know if she finds it or not, but whatever's there, it makes her agree with a nod.

I drop her where I picked her up, bunch of flowers clutched tightly in her right hand as she waits on the sidewalk to wave me off with a timid hand movement. I'd rather stay; wait until I've watched her go inside so I know she's safe but perhaps the whole reason _she's_ doing the waiting is because Charlie might be around and she doesn't want him to meet the guy who's taken his girlfriend to the dance.

I nod once with a tight smile and put the car into drive. I look in my rearview all the way to the end of the street.

She's still waiting on the sidewalk.

X

"Shit man, you were so out of it after the dance! What happened to you anyway?" I hear someone say as I collect my bio book from my locker.

"Fuck knows," comes the reply. "It was some pure junk. That guy that picks her up must get the quality stuff."

At that, my ears are on high alert. There are some strikingly sim-

"-Wish she'd started coming to dances sooner. We could have done with this at the winter formal."

Similar. Too similar. Coincidental? I fucking hope so.

But then,

"Yo Jay!" It's Ruzek. I think his name's Adam, but everyone seems to call him by his surname. "Practice tomorrow. You coming?"

"I..."

"Just give it a shot. You might like it. Oh, and next time you bring a dealer to a dance, let me know. I heard her shit was crazy clean."

He leaves at that. No follow-up or elaboration. Just a probable explanation for the numerous bathroom trips Erin made while at the dance. I look up and that's when I spot her heading into our lab for biology. I grab the book I need, slam the locker door shut and stride purposefully after her. Only, when I take my seat, I suddenly realise I don't have a clue what I'm going to say.

 _So you're a drug dealer_? _Please explain the rumours I've just heard_? _Did you go with me to the dance just so you could sell_? I don't want the answer. I think I might know it anyway.

"Hey," she says when I take my seat.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," I lie.

"Really?" There's a sceptical raise of her eyebrows.

"Really."

She shrugs. "Okay. Brought you this." Erin inches the takeout cup towards me with her little finger and I feel my face forming a frown.

"Starbucks?"

She shrugs again. "It's gotta be better than that instant stuff in my cupboard right?"

"You don't have to buy me coffee Erin." _Especially if it's because you feel guilty_.

"Then don't drink it if you don't want it." She makes to take it back at the same time I go to grab it and so our hands collide, knocking the cup over and spilling the contents over the table and our hands.

"Shit!" I curse, shaking the burning liquid off of my skin. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," she mutters, rising from her seat but I can see the redness of her skin where the coffee's burned her.

"You gotta get that under the tap," I tell her. I'll clean this.

She heads over to the sink without protest and I accompany her so I can grab some paper towels, but then I catch a glimpse of her arm when she tugs up the edges of her sweater. Her skin is marred with lines of red extending from just above her wrists to above where the cuffs of her sweater now sit. There are bruises too - none of which were there before the weekend.

"Erin…"

She must sense something at the tone of my voice because when she looks up at me, seeing the direction of my gaze, she quickly yanks her hand out from under the cold water and tugs down the sleeves of her sweater without even drying off first. She turns quickly and heads back to our table, wiping her hand on her jeans. If she thinks we're done here, she's wrong.

"Did he do this to you?" I ask quietly as Mr Davies enters the room and takes up his place in front of the board. "Your boyfriend?"

"No."

"Erin…"

"Don't ask me any more questions," she says curtly.

For around half an hour, I don't. But then when we're supposed to be viewing cells under the microscope, I voice the next worry plaguing me.

"You didn't...you didn't do it to yourself." I know what grab marks look like. She couldn't bruise herself like that. "So someone else did. Tell me who Erin. Tell me and I swear I'll-"

"-You'll do what?" she practically spits, hazel-green eyes narrowed defensively. "Protect me? Make them pay?" A bitter laugh tumbles out of her lips but everyone else is too absorbed in what they're doing to notice. "You can't do shit and neither can I so…" she gestures to the microscope, "let's just get on with this."

I don't know what the slides show. I don't care. All that exists are her bruises and the red lines of dried drawn blood, my hundred burning questions and Erin's tight, pursed lips. She's saying nothing more and yeah, she hasn't told me as such, but her stance makes it pretty obvious.

We finish up bio and I already know I won't see her in algebra.

X

My earlier prediction is proven true, and I don't find Erin in the cafeteria at lunch, nor the library after final period either. Somehow, I complete my math homework and manage some reading for the literature assignment due in next week but by the time I hear the rain/hail mix pounding on the windows, I decide it's time to head home even though I don't want whatever Patsy's made.

I want to eat chili fries. With Erin.

Turning out of the school parking lot, I switch my wipers to the fastest setting and yet they don't completely clear the windscreen. I squint my eyes against the car headlights, taking a left at the intersection.

That's when I spot her. She's doing this half-run, half-power walk with her jacket pulled tight across her body but with an absence of a hood and anything remotely resembling waterproofing, she's soaked to the bone. I slow to a stop alongside the sidewalk, lowering the window.

"Get in; I'll give you a ride."

"No." She holds her head up defiantly, carrying on. I ease my foot onto the gas and drive alongside her.

"Erin, you're soaking."

She doesn't respond to that and so I change tactic.

"I'm sorry about earlier. Please let me take you home."

There's still no response, so I try the only other angle I can think of.

"I'm gonna follow you all the way home, so you might as well get a ride out of it."

Finally, she stops walking and turns to face the window. "You really going to follow me?"

I nod. "So I know you're safe."

She bristles at that but reaches a tentative hand out to open the door. I watch her until she sits down and closes the door, waiting while she fastens her seatbelt so I can be at least 51% sure she isn't going to jump straight back out again. Once I hear the click, I put the car back into drive and ease into the left lane.

She's silent for the entire drive and I really don't want her jumping out while we're moving so I force down the questions I have so that my throat is thick and it's hard to swallow. Knowing she's next to me is worth it.

We pull up outside of her house and I wait for her to get out, slam the door and stomp off without so much as a word. What I get though, is very _very_ different.

"This isn't my house."

"Oh, I must have read the address wrong you text me." I make to put the car in drive again. "Let me know when to stop."

"You'd have to drive across West Franklin Boulevard before you stop," she says softly. "If you were gonna take me home."

My mouth must be open or something, because Erin lets out this noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. I don't know how long it is before my brain sends the signal to my lips: "Whose house is this?"

"I don't know."

"Why did you have me drop you here?"

She shrugs, "I didn't want you to see where I really live."

"You think it would make me think any less of you?"

Her eyes won't meet mine. "I would."

"Erin, you could live in a crack den and it wouldn't make me think any less of _you_."

She seems to stiffen at that - at the crack den part - and I suddenly wonder whether her home is precisely that. Or something close. It would explain the things I heard earlier today. Things I still haven't asked her about.

"You say that, but…" she lets the end of the sentence fade away and I know she's pretty much confirming my thoughts.

I turn to look at her properly: her hair plastered to her head, sweater sleeves soaked, fingers red raw. "Er-"

"-Don't do that," she warns. "Don't pity me."

"I'm not…" I trail off because yeah...I'm pretty sure that pity might have been where I was headed.

Finally, she chances a glance up at me and there's this look of desperation in her eyes, like she can't bare me to look at her. As quickly as she'd looked up, she casts her eyes back down again and I have to make a choice.

"Change of plans then," I decide. I just need her to be warm and safe. "I've been in Chicago a month and I still haven't tried a stuffed deep dish pizza. You wanna split one?"

"Jay, you don't have to -"

"- Only if it's pepperoni though," I cut in. Wherever she was going what that last statement, I'm not going to let her. "I got a spare hoodie and sweats in my bag and there's this place I've heard about in Wicker Park that does the best deep dish in the area. You can get dry and I can get my meat fix."

Erin remains silent for a moment, gnawing on her bottom lip in contemplation until finally, she nods her head just a fraction. I think I see a brief eyeroll but I definitely hear the muttered, "Carnivore."

Grinning, I put the car in drive and we head to Wicker Park.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N - Happy Easter break! Hopefully my posts should be more regular over the next few weeks. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Hope you enjoy this one x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I let the soft material of Jay's grey hoodie fall over my chest so that I'm enveloped in a soothing scent mix of fabric softener, cinnamon and musk. I spend a good minute just standing and inhaling that smell, resting against the door of the bathroom stall while he waits at our table, pretending that he's not going to press for information when I go back out there dressed in his clothes.

I unlock the door and catch sight of myself in the mirror, all smudged eyes and bright red skin from the cold. Letting the cuffs of Jay's hoodie fall over my hands, I push back the strands of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail and decide against looking at my reflection again.

He's exactly where I knew he'd be when I go back out there, sitting with a menu in front of him even though we both know we're here for a pepperoni deep dish pizza pie. There's a smile on his face - the kind of which I haven't seen before. I don't know what it means and I'm in no hurry to find out.

"You haven't ordered yet?" I ask, although it's a pointless question because anyone can see he hasn't.

"Thought you might want to choose something else."

"You said you wanted pepperoni."

He shrugs. "Can always have that another time if you'd prefer something different."

Another time. Like, maybe if he were to bring another girl here. On a date - the kind you dress up, not wear borrowed gym clothes for. I don't know why the thought suddenly makes it hard to swallow.

I shrug too, but I'm forcing the casual gesture. "Order what you want. I'm happy with pepperoni."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But I want olives too."

At that, he frowns, but then this grin spreads across his lips so that the blue irises of his eyes seem to dance. "Olives _on_ the pizza?"

"Yeah."

"That's not even a combo that should be considered, let alone ordered."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it Halstead."

Almost impossibly, his grin widens. It doesn't have any right to make my stomach flop like it does. "A pepperoni pie with olives it is," he says, still smiling. A waiter interrupts it though, appearing from behind a round drinks tray that isn't holding any glasses and asking what he can get for us. Jay orders and the waiter doesn't bother to write any of it down - even when he adds on the extras like garlic bread with tomato and a mixed salad. I've never ordered a mixed salad at a restaurant in my life.

"Gotta counter all that cheese right?" he asks when the waiter's left us alone and I'm silently trying to find out what his motive in all of this is.

"I guess."

He keeps staring at my wrists and it's resulting in a weird combination of making my skin burn and feel incredibly exposed at the same time. "What?" I mumble (probably a little curtly) when I can't take it any more.

There's a twitch of his shoulders - barely a shrug - and a soft smile. "You look good in my clothes."

There isn't really a response to that. I like wearing his clothes (almost definitely more than I should) but there's no way I'm about to admit that. I take the jug of water in hand instead, pouring a glass out for each of us whether he wants some or not.

Eventually, the pizza arrives and it's absolutely huge. The way Jay salivates as the cheese strings hang off of the cutter as our waiter slices us a piece each make me laugh and when I look up at him, he's watching me carefully.

"I'm not gonna start without you."

Jay gets his piece and the waiter ducks out without even a cursory 'enjoy' or 'buon appetito' or whatever it is he's probably supposed to say. "Together?" he asks, foregoing the knife and fork in favour of his fingers. I put my own fork down and copy him.

"Together."

He begins this countdown which is so dorky that it shouldn't make me smile but it totally does because I've never met anyone like him before - someone that would countdown to eating a slice of pizza pie or who'd bring me coffee just because. He hits 'one' and I can't wait any more, taking a huge bite before he can tell me to eat.

It's delicious.

"Hey!" He retorts incredulously, although the sting is taken out by all the dough and cheese filling his mouth. "You didn't wait!"

"Took too long," I tell him, devouring a second mouthful. "Nobody counts down to pizza."

"Except me."

"Except you."

Jay fills his mouth with another bite, not waiting to finish before he continues. "You never countdown to things? Build up the anticipation?"

"Should I?"

"Depends if you wanna prolong the excitement," he says.

I shrug and the resulting, "Don't often have much to be excited for," leaves my mouth before I can stop it. I stop chewing, holding the food in my mouth as I wait for the inevitable 'what do you mean?' but, as is often the case with Jay Halstead, I'm surprised. The question never arrives. Instead, he smiles, a string of mozzarella hanging from his mouth.

"Well now you do."

I guess I do.

I smile, swallow and take another bite. We don't speak any more of it.

X

"I have a futon," Jay says, finally spitting out the words he's very obviously been chewing down since he finished his last slice of pizza and declared it the best thing he's ever eaten.

"Good for you. I have a shitty single bed with at least three broken slats but hey, it's still a bed right?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I mean, I _have_ a futon."

"I know; I heard you the first ti-"

"-That I can sleep on. And you can have my bed."

I'm confused. My face must tell him that because he's gabbling again. "I'm not gonna try anything. I wouldn't do that but it's cold and wet and I promise I won't ask you any questions about your arms but I think it'd be best if you were safe and warm tonight and…"

I don't hear the rest. My brain registers his mouth moving but no sound makes it to my ears other than what he's already said. My arms. He thinks the marks are from Charlie. He needs to know they're not. _I_ need him to know they're not, but then how am I supposed to explain that my own mother did it? Grabbed and clawed at me while out of her fucking mind on drugs and booze? Threw the bunch of flowers he bought me at the wall and told me I wasn't worth shit.

"Erin?" I hear, and realise he's asking me something.

"Yeah?"

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Stay at my place? Even if it's only for tonight."

I can't go back to Bunny's - not tonight anyway - and after refusing to take Charlie's junk to school to sell this morning in case any teachers heard the rumours and decided to search my bag or locker, he's hardly going to be pleased to see me. I find myself saying "Okay," before I can even register the letters rising in my throat.

Jay beams though, like someone who's just won the lotto or something. "Okay."

He pays the bill and I feel guilty for not being able to even offer a contribution but he genuinely doesn't seem to mind. It's freezing cold when we head back outside but at least the rain has stopped so I'm not going to get wet again. He moves closer, like he's going to put his arm around me and pull me close, but I take a small step to the side so our bodies remain apart. I don't want to blur the lines of whatever this weird kind-of-friendship is.

He blows into his hands instead, rubbing them together until he tucks them under his armpits while I let his hoodie swamp mine, cocooning them in soft cotton to stave off the inevitable redness for as long as possible. The air is biting around us; black sky devoid of even a single star so it looks just like an abyss, ready to swallow you without mercy.

We're not far from his house and the drive takes no longer than ten minutes, during which neither of us say anything and the radio does all the talking. We pull up in the driveway of exactly the kind of house I assumed he'd live in, although it's smaller than I'd imagined it would be. Once he's killed the engine though, his voice stops me before my hand releases the door handle.

"My dad asks a lot of questions. Patsy - my stepmom - does too and it's not like I have to ask their permission or anything, but I'm not sure they'd be completely down if I had a girl over to stay. Not that we'll be doing anything, but I don't want them to make you uncomfortable because my dad can be a bit of an ass and it's not like I'm sneaking you in but-"

"- Halstead, it's fine," I cut in because God only knows how long he's going to ramble on if I don't. I can't help the smile crossing my face because as much as he's denied it, this is definitely sneaking-someone-into-your-house territory. He's kind of cute when he's flustered, I think, then quickly rid that thought from my brain because I shouldn't find _anything_ about him cute.

"There's a door round the back. If you wait until I've fielded all the questions, I'll text you and you can come in the back way. I'll be waiting.

"Like a police operation," I muse, twirling the key he hands my around my finger. Jay only lays a large hand on my knee, squeezes gently and then exits the car.

My skin burns under his sweatpants for the next five minutes.

X

Jay closes the door of his bedroom behind us and visibly relaxes. It would be almost comical if the whole sneaking-me-into-the-house operation hadn't taken damn near twenty five minutes, in which time the car had grown cold and my hands had stopped working properly. Even now, having been in the warmth of his house for a minute or two, it's almost impossible to move my fingers enough to get the blood circulating properly again.

"This uh...this is my room," he says, suddenly shy and kind of pink in the cheeks. His voice is low and I can hear the vibrating hum of the television downstairs where his dad and stepmom are sitting. They think he's doing homework and I smile because this feels like all those teen movies where there's almost a hundred percent change we're going to get busted. Maybe the next cliche is to hide in the closet or duck out of the window.

"Love what you've done with the place."

"It's uh," he looks at the blank walls and few boxes still stacked up neatly across the room, "a work in progress."

"Got it."

I take my boots and damp socks off and wiggle my toes in his carpet.

"Your feet cold?" he asks, observant of the redness of my skin.

"Yeah, kinda."

He goes to a drawer and pulls out a dark pair of socks, tossing them to me.

"Maybe I should get dressed out of your closet every day." It's meant to be a joke but falls flat when he doesn't smile, just looks at me with this strange expression written across his face.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing," he says somewhat sombrely, and I choose to focus on pulling on the socks instead.

"So…" his previous comment is ignored. "Seeing as you can't give me the grand tour of your house, how about giving me the grand tour of something else instead?"

Jay's eyes widen and it's almost funny. "What would you like the grand tour of?"

"Algebra? Trigonometry?"

I get a grin at that - that kind of natural lopsided one he does without realising; that one that always makes me want to grin too. "A grand tour of the best math concepts there are? Got it."

I do laugh at that, careful not to be too loud to alert suspicion because as amusing as this whole set-up is, it's nice enough that I don't really want to get us busted.

"What?"

"Some math concepts are better than others?"

"Absolutely," he replies, joining me on his bed so that it dips and I rock against his shoulder a little.

"Aside from your bread and butter math - you know, multiplication and division, addition and subtraction - algebra and trig are pretty up there."

I wish he'd transferred years ago; made my life less crappy way before now. "And what are the worst?"

"Surds," he deadpans. "Nobody needs surds in real life."

"Pretty sure nobody needs algebra or trig either."

"Are you kidding?" he asks, almost like he's serious, and I start to wonder whether he actually might be. "Trig is used by builders to calculate the measurements they need for construction."

"Oh," I smile, raising an eyebrow at him. "Well you'd better get explaining then."

We spend the next hour or so going over the concepts I didn't learn in class and around the thirty-eight minute mark, I start to lose focus but sitting next to him like this, all warm and comfy, beats anything else I could be doing and so I take in the timbre of his voice: low and smooth - yet somehow a little rough at the same time, gravelly maybe, like he's tired. Jay glances at me and I must give away my lack of full attention because he closes the book, bumps his shoulder against mine and tells me it's probably enough for tonight.

"I don't know what you'd be most comfortable sleeping in," he says. "I have some t-shirts or more sweatpants and hoodies if you'd prefer?"

I finger the cuffs of the grey material surrounding me and decide I'm good like this. "This is fine, really."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. It's warm and smells n-" I stop abruptly, realising what I was about to admit.

"Smells what?" he asks playfully, a smile lighting up his eyes. I decide that Jay Halstead's smile could probably melt the ice caps if he wanted it to.

"Nothing."

"Uh huh." He's still grinning and I roll my eyes, but then he stands, making his way towards the futon which suddenly seems really far away, and yeah, it's only the other side of the room and we're friends (or maybe not even that) but I'd rather he sleep next to me.

"You don't...you can sleep in your bed. We can share."

"I'm not...are you sure? I don't mind taking the futon."

"No, you should have your bed."

"Promise I'll keep my hands to myself," he says self-consciously, though there's a hint of humour there but I'm more worried about the flop my stomach's just done. I'm not quite sure how I feel about Jay, but I'm both desperate and worried to find out.

I don't reply with words, just nod once and stand up myself so I can burrow under the sheets.

"You need to use the bathroom or anything?"

"I'm good," I say, resting my head against the pillow and trying not to close my eyes as I inhale that scent of him.

"Okay, I'll just be a few minutes."

He grabs a couple items of clothing from a drawer and disappears, and I quickly check my phone for a message from Bunny or Charlie but there aren't any. It isn't really a surprise and it shouldn't sting but it does somehow.

The sting wanes a little when Jay returns, wearing a pair of low-slung pajama pants that hang off his hips and draw attention to the 'v' just below his belly button, a strip of clearly-defined skin poking out when he stretches and his t-shirt rides up. I swallow, pretend not to notice or care that my pulse just spiked and I'm pretty sure my heart-rate has picked up enough that he'd notice if he laid close enough.

He turns out the light before making his way over and I shift against the mattress so there's a good fifteen inches of space between us when he joins me. We're lying on our backs in the dark and my body seems to ache with the desire to touch him, but he's rigid and we've both undoubtedly underestimated how awkward this is going to be.

"I want to ask you something," Jay tells me, his voice part way to a whisper. "And I can handle the truth, whatever it might be."

"Okay?"

"Did you only go to the dance with me because you wanted to deal drugs?"

My face flames. I lie completely still, heart thumping in my ears as I feel the mattress shift as he turns towards me. I know he's looking at me: searching my face in the darkness for a tell. It's there. "Yes."

He swallows hard. I see his Adam's apple bob out of my peripheral vision. "There are rumours. People know you can get them stuff."

I don't reply. What is there to say? But yet, Jay isn't finished.

"If the teachers catch you, you'll be expelled Erin."

"I know."

"I want to know why," he sighs, like he's a disappointed parent who doesn't know where they've gone wrong - creating something like me. Something so bad. So messed-up. "But it's not my place to ask."

I turn then; twist my whole body to look at him. "I did go with you because I needed to sell. But I didn't want to - sell, I mean. I wanted to go with you but I...Charlie's…" I trail off, deciding against telling him, It's not fair for him to know. "Look, it's better if you don't know. Then you can't get into trouble, right?"

"Or maybe it would be better if I _did_ know," he says. "So I could help."

It's that kind of naive way of thinking which is precisely why telling him I sell drugs so my dealer boyfriend will let me sleep in a warm bed when my own mother is out of her mind, would be a bad idea. "You're sweet Jay, but you can't help; I'm handling it."

I feel his hands on my arms then, tracing the marks over the top of the hoodie I'm wearing. "Really?"

"Really," I choke out.

We don't say anything more. He releases my arms and they feel cold when he does. The space between us grows further when Jay shifts back onto his back and I'm forced to do the same.

Time passes - how much, I'm not sure - and I hear his breaths even out, feel the rhythmic rise and fall of the sheets in time with his chest. There's a fraction of moonlight peeping through the blinds so that I can make out the stubble on his jawline; the sharp curve of his haircut around his temple. Inching closer, I bend my knees so that I can tuck them up towards me. They brush Jay's lightly and he doesn't stir. Closer still I move, feeling his body heat warm the air around us until finally, my head is level with his chest and I can run my fingertips carefully over the cotton of his t-shirt. I let my lips rest there too, so that every inhale allows me his scent, his touch, the sound of his sleepy heartbeat under my ear.

He shifts then. It's a careful movement - one that gives away the fact he's no longer sound asleep, but conscious enough to maneuver his body into a position that means his arms can hold me. For a moment, I freeze, unsure: guilty that this is how I want to sleep - with my body pressed up snugly against Jay's. But then that uncertainty dissipates when he cranes his neck so my head fits under his chin and he can smooth out my ponytail with his fingers.

I'm flirting with the edge of sleep before I've even taken another breath, and when he presses the softest of kisses on the top of my head, I'm out.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - You guys are seriously AMAZING! Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter of this story and on my latest oneshot Lifeline. This chapter has been longer in coming than I anticipated because I wasn't quite happy with it. and it took me a bit to sort. I don't want to spoil anything so check out my A/N at the end for a little more info.**

 **X**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I burrow further under the sheets and inhale deeply, on the edge of being awake but still not fully-conscious enough to open my eyes. My fingers move lazily and heavily towards Erin, but somehow don't find the warm skin of her hip they're searching for. It serves as a jolt to my senses and my left eye creeps open tentatively at first, then my right. Neither land on her: not the dark ponytail her hair was tied in last night, nor the soft grey cotton of my hoodie and sweatpants. I'm awake then. Eyes wide in confusion and worry; ears straining incase she's decided to help herself to coffee or cereal downstairs in some sort of misguided assumption that my dad and Patsy would be warm and welcoming.

"Erin?" I whisper in case she's somewhere in my room and just, for some absurd reason, my eyes aren't working properly. When there's no answer, I'm not surprised.

I throw back the sheets and head to the bathroom. Only half-way along the hall it occurs to me that's where she might be - standing under the jets with steam fogging up the glass - but when I reach the door and it's open, practically shouting 'there's no Erin Lindsay here', I'm bitterly disappointed.

I pee, splash my face with water and then head back to my room before I can encounter Patsy or my dad, glancing around the available surfaces for any sign of a note. When I don't find one, I go for my phone, tapping the screen as quickly as I can to type out a message to Erin. I take it with me as I head back to the bathroom for a shower - just in case she calls. The last thing I need is for Patsy to hear the ringing and decide to answer for me.

It doesn't ring though.

It doesn't ring while I'm in the shower, while I'm getting dressed, while I'm putting books into my backpack mindlessly; doesn't ring when I head downstairs, following the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and scrambled eggs.

"Jay," Patsy smiles, setting a plate of eggs and toast down in front of my dad. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Thanks, but I'm running late," I tell her, heading over to the cupboard which houses my travel mug so I can pour a generous slug of coffee into it. "I'll just grab something at school."

"Like hell you will," my dad says, gesturing to the empty seat opposite him. "That's your seat; take it."

"I'll be late," I tell him, though it's not strictly true. I just want to find out where the hell Erin is and when she left. _Why_ she left.

"Then you'll have to set your alarm earlier. You know, tardiness won't fly in the police academy."

I swallow down the 'fuck you' I'm desperate to voice as I'm screwing the cap back on the mug.

"Let me make you some toast," Patsy says softly. "I'll make it quick."

I'm grateful for the way she tries to keep the peace, brushing over my dad's abruptness with a smile and an offer of food, but I'd rather she didn't. It just makes this whole set-up even more fake. I guess I'm just as guilty though, sitting down when I'm told; eating the toast I don't want in a kitchen I don't want to be in.

Patsy presents me two buttered slices and I attempt the best smile I have. Every mouthful feels like rocks being forced down my throat but somehow I manage to eat until there are only crumbs left, at which point I rise, take the mug of coffee in hand and head out of the door with a quick, "Thanks for the toast," before my dad can say anything more.

X

Erin's a no-show at school. It's a day on which we have only two classes together, yet I look for her in the cafeteria and (as much as I hate to) beyond the windows in the parking lot where she might be dealing and she's not there either. I check my phone repeatedly for a message that never comes, then, when the time reaches 2:20pm, tap out another message to her. I just need to know she's okay.

I'm dragged to football practice by Ruzek at the end of school which proves - at least for an hour and a half - to be a decent distraction, mainly because if I don't pay attention, I'm likely to get a concussion from a heavy tackle and I could kind of do without the trip to hospital. Not surprisingly, I make the team because they're pretty desperate for players and I'm given the 21 jersey with a smile from coach Tutuola, which should make me feel proud and yeah, it kind of does I suppose, but it also makes me wonder what Erin's opinion on the whole jock thing would be.

I shouldn't care.

I do though.

We shower and joke in the locker room and Attwater - the star quarterback - starts ripping Ruzek for his crush on some girl called Kim who he apparently can't seem to muster up the courage to tell that he likes her. I know how he feels. Still, I laugh along as I pull my henley back over my head, a few water droplets clinging to the back of my neck where I've missed them with the towel.

"You coming to Molly's, Halstead?" Ruzek shouts over, deflecting the comments regarding his love life.

"Molly's?"

"Yeah, it's a diner on West La Moyne. We usually hang out after practice for a bit."

I think about the homework I have and the fact that I've hardly spent any time at home lately (not that that's a bad thing, but I could do without my dad getting suspicious and casting too eagle an eye over what I'm doing). "Uh, I can't tonight," I tell him. "But maybe next time?"

"Sure," Ruzek shrugs. "But there's a party at Severide's Saturday night. Make sure you're there."

I shrug, "Cool," and then close my locker, slinging the wet towel in the bin by the door. "See you guys tomorrow."

It's pretty dark in the parking lot when I head back to my car but I can make out a figure leaning against it. I'm about to shout over when I notice the familiar waves of hair and not-warm-enough jacket flapping a little in the wind.

"Erin?"

"Hey," she smiles as I reach her, her raspy voice somehow finding its way to my fingertips so that my grip on the set of keys I'm holding loosens. This girl really is something else. "You got some time?"

"Of course."

I unlock the car and she settles herself in the passenger seat, rubbing her fingers together in an obvious attempt to warm them. She really needs to wear gloves. "I've been worried about you."

"You don't need to be."

"Er-"

"- My mom called. She needed...she uh...I had to go round there."

Whatever it is that she's choosing not to tell me is obviously bad.

"And I didn't wanna wake you so I snuck out while you were asleep."

"Back door?"

"Bedroom window. Didn't want you to get busted for forgetting to lock up." The accompanying grin she gives makes me think she's done this before - the whole sneaking out thing. I find that I don't like it.

"I'd have dropped you off."

"I know. And that's why I didn't wake you."

"I don't understand," I tell her honestly. "I don't know why you won't let me help you."

Erin sighs - the kind of sigh that tells me I probably won't ever understand. "I'm not your responsibility."

"I don't think of you that way."

"Good," she snips, somewhat coldly. "And you don't get to think I am."

Somehow, I'm even more confused that I was when I woke this morning.

"I just came to say thanks for last night," she says, softer this time.

"Any time," I answer. "Really."

"How was practice?" she changes topic, gesturing to the bag I slung onto the back seat.

"Good actually. I made the team."

"Course you did."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs with a smirk, the air between shifting immeasurably from just moments ago. "Just I knew you would."

"Are you referencing our league position?"

"So it's _our_ league position now?" Her eyebrows are raised and I love her like this: playful and happy. "Now that you're one of the jocks. You gonna wear one of those jackets?"

I shrug, joining in. "Maybe." I open my mouth to ask whether she'd wear it for me, then think better of it. She _has_ a boyfriend after all.

A moment of silence settles over us, yet it's comfortable. I could sit with her for hours like this and never get bored.

"You're not going to Molly's?" Erin asks, breaking it.

"Homework," I say, by way of explanation. "And speaking of, you missed the assignment Ms Florez set for us."

"You'll catch me up though right? Chili fries and coke?"

I groan inwardly because there's nothing more that I want than to hang out with her over junk food, but I know I can't tonight. "Can we do it tomorrow?"

"Course."

"You going to let me drop you home?"

She seems to think about it for a few seconds, but the subtle nod of her head gives me the go-ahead to turn the key in the ignition. We drive in relative quiet, listening to the radio's news and traffic bulletin as I turn out of the parking lot and onto the road. When we cross Franklin Boulevard, I watch her out of my peripheral vision, wondering exactly how it is that she's come to live somewhere like this. I don't ask though, just slow to a stop outside of her building and try to keep my face from giving away the unease I feel about dropping her here. About _leaving_ her here.

"Can I walk you upstairs?"

She answers quickly. "No."

"Are you -"

"- I'm fine. Really."

I don't believe her, but I know I can't say this. She reaches for the door handle with her right hand and at the same time, my fingers inch over to her left, settling just on the edge of the back of her palm. "Text me when you're inside your apartment?"

Turning her head as she chews her bottom lip, she nods gently with a small smile before exiting the car. Just before she closes the door, she ducks her head towards me. "Jay?"

"Yeah?" there's a warmth spreading over me at the mention of my first name. I think it's the first time she's used it.

"Thanks."

She shuts the door before I can reply, and I just watch her enter her building, wait the two minutes it takes for her to send me a message, then pull away from the curb and head home.

X

For the next few days, school is normal. I see Erin by her locker or in the hallway before school, we sit together in biology, at lunch (along with Ruzek and Attwater) and then she watches my practice afterwards. She charms everyone - of course she does - and in the locker room while she's waiting in the library, Ruzek tells me he doesn't understand how someone like her can supply the parties' heroin, not when she's "actually pretty sweet", and yeah, I don't exactly know the answer to that one because she's not telling, so I only shrug and change the subject.

"Party at Severide's tomorrow!" Attwater reminds us all as some of the guys start to file out of the locker room. "Dawson's bringing the keg."

I take Erin home and she presses a kiss to my cheek in thanks - a new, much-appreciated development - and then head home myself to pretend to enjoy the ziti and conversation about politics with my dad and Patsy. It's all normal.

Until it isn't.

The final day of the week arrives and I head to math for first period, where Erin should be. _Should_ be, but isn't. The bell rings, the teacher arrives and yet the girl who's on my mind pretty much every minute of every day doesn't. I'm not even sure what the topic we're learning about is because I'm busy counting down until the next bell, at which point I'll be able to send Erin a message.

It doesn't get returned.

The next period comes and goes, so does the one after that and the one after that, all without a single whisper of where she might be. I cave at lunch and call her. It goes to straight to voicemail and I curse myself internally for caring this much. By final period, I'm ready to walk out halfway through class, but I last it out, bailing as soon as the bell sounds so I can head over to her place. I know how seriously she's taking the attendance thing and if someone's hurt her, _someone_ needs to do something about it.

I cross Franklin Boulevard like it's a check point - and maybe it is, symbolically - before taking a right and a left until I'm outside of her building. I realise there's been an oversight in that I don't know her apartment number, or even the floor she lives on, and I sure as hell don't have a key to get into the lobby. I know her surname though, so I'm hoping I can find the right buzzer.

Hope's futile here, it seems.

Not a single buzzer has the occupier's name next to it, then my own stupidity hits me like a sledgehammer because this is Garfield Park, and of course nobody here is going to be advertising the place they live at. I work systematically, hitting the first buzzer on the left. Not surprisingly, people aren't keen on helping me find Erin's apartment.

I'm halfway down the second row of buzzers when finally, someone mutters an, "Eighty-four" and lets me in. I'm not sure if I should be grateful or worried that I'm inside of the building. It has to be the former, I decide, and head up the stairwell: I don't fancy my chances in the elevator.

Eventually, I find her door after searching the warren-like corridors of the first three floors, and knock loud enough that if I don't get an answer from her or her mom, I'll at least alert the neighbours. I'm just forming my hand into a fist ready to knock again when the door yanks open a couple inches before obviously getting stuck on the chain. I can't make out the appearance of the woman on the other side other than she's got short blonde hair, blue eyes and clearly isn't Erin.

"Yes?"

"Is uh...Is Erin in?" I ask.

"Who's asking?"

"A friend."

The woman raises an eyebrow and if that's anything to go by, it must be her mom. "Jay," I add. "Halstead."

"You friends with Charlie?"

"No. I don't know Charlie. I mean, I know he's Erin's boy-" I stop, realising I'm probably giving away too much information. I don't know what she has and hasn't told her mom and the last thing I want to do is ruin our fragile sort-of-friendship. "Uh, is she here?"

The door closes and I hear the chain jangling before it opens again, this time wide enough that I can see past the woman in front of me and into the apartment behind. "Shouldn't she be at school?"

"Look, Mrs Lindsay, I just want to know if she's here."

At that, she scoffs. "Please. It's not _Mrs Lindsay_. Her dad never married me. Never even stuck around long enough to meet her." I swallow the lump in my throat. "Call me Bunny."

If I'm not mistaken, I think there's an accompanying wink. And a definite smell of alcohol. "And no," she adds. "She's not here. I haven't seen her since last night. Or...this morning...I don't know. She probably stayed at Charlie's."

I rub the back of my neck and debate the next question, until I just give in and ask. I don't have to act on it. "Do you know where he lives? Charlie?"

"Sure."

I wait for her to reel off the address but she doesn't, just continues to study me. "Can you tell me?"

"Are you the guy who gave her the flowers?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet. They're dead now of course."

"Right."

"Come in," Bunny tells me, letting go of the door handle to reveal an unsteady balance. "I'll find some paper."

"It's okay," I say. "You can just tell me. I'll remember."

She turns and abruptly knocks into the wall. "Oops."

I start to wonder just how long it's going to take for me to get this address out of her but finally she reels it off, adding an unsure "I think," at the end. I thank her and head off, half-wondering whether my car will have been stolen but when I get back out onto the street, I find it exactly where I left it: unharmed. I've got to start remembering that not _all_ of Chicago is like they show it in movies.

I drive the seven minutes and forty-three seconds it takes me to get to Charlie's place, wondering whether Erin catches a bus or an uber or just walks it when she needs to get away from her place. I pull up outside the building Bunny had told me to come to. It's better than the one I've just left and on a decent-looking street too. I park up, head inside of the building and make my way to the second floor.

Blowing out a breath, I rap on the door three times and wait. It doesn't take long for the door to open revealing a tall man with dark hair and a cigarette hanging from his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Are you Charlie?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Jay. I'm uh...I'm looking for Erin."

"What for?"

Shit. I haven't thought this far ahead. "We're uh, lab partners. We have an assignment due and we were supposed to work on it today. She here?"

Charlie eyes me carefully and takes a deep drag of his cigarette before turning his head to the side, yelling for Erin. He doesn't tell her it's me, and I'm not sure who she's expecting but when she reaches the door, I know from her wide eyes and pale skin that I'm not it.

"What are you doing here?" she asks coldly, not bothering with any pleasantries. Charlie waves us out into the hallway and she closes the door behind her. "How did you find this place?"

"Your mom gave me the address."

"You went to my apartment?" she asks angrily. "When I told you I didn't want you there?"

"You didn't answer my texts or calls today," I say, voice rising and I fight to keep it low enough that Charlie doesn't hear us. "I had no idea if you were okay."

"I missed one day of school Jay; it doesn't mean you should jump to the conclusion that there's something wrong."

"Are you sick?" My eyes scan her body (or what part of it there is uncovered) quickly, searching for any sign or marks.

"What?"

"I can only assume that if nothing's wrong, you're sick."

"Yeah, I'm sick."

"With what?"

She scoffs. "You want a list of my symptoms?"

"No," I tell her. "I just want the truth."

A sigh leaves her lips and her body seems to deflate in front of me. "You wouldn't like it."

"We're friends Erin; it doesn't matter if I don't like it."

"Friends huh?" she asks, rolling the word off her tongue slowly like she's testing the sound of it.

"If you want to be."

Her lips crack into a half-smile that doesn't reach her eyes, nor does it display her dimples. "I'm sorry about not texting you back. Honestly, I left my phone at Bunny's so I didn't get the messages."

"And you're here instead of there." I say. "He's the one you sell for, right?"

She doesn't reply, but her eyes say everything.

"Erin, if he's just using -"

"- He's not. He...look, Charlie's place is warm and it has food and a shower. He's helping me out. So what if I help him out a bit?"

"Selling heroin for him is more than just _helping him a bit_."

She just shrugs at that and I can tell the conversation is done. Her eyes are cold again. "You've seen me. Now you know I'm okay so you should head home or to Molly's or...whatever."

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" I ask, suddenly desperate to keep her talking; plan something so she'll have to see me the next day. So I'll be able to make sure she's okay.

"I don't have any."

"Then will you be my tour guide?"

"Your what?"

"I've been in Chicago for two months and I still haven't seen the bean. And you know the city, right?"

"I guess."

"And I have a car, so between us we can see the sights."

"I've seen the sights," she deadpans, clearly not willing to play tonight.

"Then would you mind seeing them again? I can throw in any food of your choice as a sweetener?"

That one cracks her. Makes her smile a genuine dimple-inducing smile that lights her eyes up so I get to see the infinite shades of green in them. "You good with burritos?"

"Sounds perfect."

"You can pick me up at two."

" _Two_?"

"It's the weekend and I've hardly slept. Let me have a lie-in."

I'm pretty sure I'd let her have whatever the hell she wants. "I'll be outside here at two then," I say.

I get the smile again before her hands go to the door.

By the time I'm back in my car, I'm already counting down to the following afternoon.

* * *

 **A/N 2: I know a lot of you wanted to see them wake up together in this chapter but it just didn't tie in with the storyline I had planned. Plus, this is kind of a slow-burn, but that being said, things are going to step up a little and you will get to see their tourist day (or, due to Erin's lie-in, tourist afternoon ;P)**

 **Much love x**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N- HUGE thank you to you lovely, lovely people for your reviews. As always, they made me smile and prompted me to update as soon as I could. Here's the tourist day you've been looking forward to. Enjoy x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

"You know, my neighbours didn't appreciate your house calls."

Jay shrugs.

"You don't care?"

"Why would I?" he asks, like it's obvious. "It got me to you didn't it?"

I contemplate his answer as he drives us closer to Millennium Park because as much as he's invaded everything I asked him not to, having someone who cares enough to do it is kind of sweet. More than sweet, probably. It's nice. _Really_ nice. "It did."

"And it's getting _you_ a burrito."

"A big one," I say, my mouth watering at the thought. "As big as my head. With all the fixings."

"Regular soured cream or the chipotle kind?"

"Chipotle," I reply. "That even a choice?"

"Okay fine. Corn tortilla or wheat?"

"Corn. Next?"

"Shredded beef or chicken?"

That's a tough one. "Depends."

"On?"

"You buying me fries to go with it?"

"Of course."

"Then chicken."

He's grinning at me with those eyes of his dancing like they always do when he's obviously happy. Jay Halstead _wears_ his happiness and right now, it's a fashion statement. "All good choices."

We park up a few blocks away, and right before I open the door to get out, he reaches into the backseat and pulls out something to hand to me.

"What's this?"

"Stuff to keep you warm," he says as I finger the dark material of a beanie hat and gloves. "Your fingers are always cold and they don't work properly when they get like that."

I think I'm staring at him. "And," he continues, bumping his shoulder against mine gently. "You'll need them to work if you're gonna eat a burrito as big as your head. Can't do it with a knife and fork - wouldn't be right."

"And the hat?" I somehow manage to ask.

"Didn't want your ears to feel left out. Especially if we're going up the Skydeck."

He pulls on his own hat and gloves, opens the driver door and proceeds to get out without another word. Like a puppy, I follow.

We head to the park first, walking side by side and so close that I can smell him - that delicious mix of cinnamon and mint and musk I drifted off to the other night. I've thought about it every night since and the stark contrast to sleeping with Charlie hits me in the face each time I've settled on my side of the mattress next to him. Guess that's the punishment you get for wanting something you shouldn't. For daring to sample something you shouldn't. I only dipped my toe in and already I feel like I'm drowning in him, and maybe it should feel like a death, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite, it turns out.

We reach the entrance on Michigan Avenue and he just stares ahead at Cloud Gate - or, as he insists on calling it, _the bean_. His hands are in his pockets and so I tug on his forearm so he'll keep moving.

"C'mon. Thought you wanted to see it."

"I do," he says, my hands still on his arm as he brings something out of his pocket furthest away from me with the other hand.

"What's that?"

"Go Pro."

"Why do you have it?"

"'Cause I want to document this visit." He looks at me and I'm not sure what expression I'm wearing but he chuckles at it, holding the camera in front of my face with a grin. "We're playing tourists. We've got to do it properly."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. But keep moving. It's freakin' freezing out here."

Jay looks at me intently for a few moments, saying nothing and it's somewhat unnerving - being observed like this - but then as if it hasn't happened, he lets my hand drop from his arm and starts walking again. I have to take a several large strides to catch up.

X

We visit Cloud Gate. We pull stupid faces at the surface so that the distorted reflections make us laugh. We stand beneath it and look up and he films it all on the camera - including the part where he drapes his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close for a snapshot of the park beyond us. I know how it must look, me snuggled into his side seeking the warmth of his chest and the scent of him, and I'm beyond caring because it's the best weekend I've had in years.

"Come on," he says eventually, tugging my hand so we're heading away from the sculpture. "Next stop on our tour of Chicago's sights."

"Which is?"

"Skating rink," he grins. "We're gonna do every cliched tourist thing there is."

I've never been skating and I already know I'm going to be terrible at it, but somehow it doesn't seem to matter. He's going to catch me if I fall - stop me from hurting myself - and that's kind of all I need.

He buys us coffee to drink while we queue, standing to my right so that he's blocking the biting wind and I'm not quite so cold. Whatever it is that I feel for Jay Halstead intensifies right there and then. Like a spark suddenly igniting a fire and I shuffle closer almost without conscious thought, my jacket skimming his so we're touching but not _touching_. He clears his throat,

"How's your coffee?"

"Good."

"Just good?"

"Well there's this guy who brings me a mug of it most days and I have to say, his is pretty unrivalled."

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin and I give into what I want then, taking a final step so I can lean against him, silently willing for him to loop even one of his arms around me so I'm snug and safe. I know it's greedy and indulgent but he does it anyway and I hide my smile in the fabric of his jacket.

"You okay?" he asks, but it's not a question of concern. Probably more of a clarification, and so I lie. A little. Kind of.

"Just cold." My voice is muffled by his jacket so I turn my head slightly. "And you're warm."

We stay like that until we reach the front of the queue and the bored-looking man behind the desk asks our shoe sizes. He hands us a pair of skates each and we make our way to the bench to slip them on.

As predicted, I'm no good at skating. Jay, surprisingly, isn't much better so it takes most of our efforts to remain upright, nevermind reaching the other end of the rink gracefully. At one point, his confidence gets the better of him and he skates a few metres ahead, making the mistake of turning to face me which knocks him off balance and there's this weird period of time where it seems to slow so I'm watching him trip and wobble until he finally falls on his ass, landing on the ice with a thud. I'm not sure whether I'm giddy from the coffee or the cold or the afternoon or him, but a fit of laughter overtakes me and consequently knocks me off balance too so that I join him on the floor in a haphazard heap.

"Got too cocky Halstead," I tell him, straightening the beanie on his head that's fallen to the side.

"Oh yeah? What's _your_ excuse for being down here then?"

I shrug. "You put me off."

"Sure, blame me."

"Oh I do." I try to stand but it proves more difficult than expected, and so despite his chuckling at my attempts, Jay rises to his feet, holding out both hands for me to take. I do, he hauls me to my feet without it looking like he puts in any effort, and proceeds to lead me along - all of the time with my hands in his.

He doesn't let go until it's time to remove our skates.

X

We head to the Skydeck next, waiting in line with the _actual_ tourists, and normally I'd complain about wasting time but today, it doesn't feel like that's what we're doing. Jay's making me laugh with some terrible joke about herding cows that I kind of don't understand but he's so insistent on explaining it that I can't not find it funny.

Once we reach the sales desk and he pays the exorbitant price of $46 so we can look at the same view we could get on the internet, he starts fiddling with his camera so he can capture everything we're about to see on film. One thing I discover about Jay in the ride up to the deck? Elevators (and in particular, fast ones) freak him the fuck out. It only takes a couple minutes to get from the lobby to the observation deck but his hands spend their time clenched in tight fists against his side.

"Guess Six Flags is off the cards then huh?" I say, reaching up towards him on my tiptoes so I can speak quietly into his ear. He seems to shudder at that; turns his head to look at me.

"It's just elevators," he says with a tight smile. "Rollercoasters I can do."

"Good." I finger the cuffs of my jacket with my gloved hands. "Then we can go there next time. When it's warm."

"You really _do_ hate the cold Lindsay." "Born in the wrong state," I say. "Should've been a California baby."

"You ever been? To California?"

"Nah," I shake my head. "I've never even left the city. Still on my 'to-do' list."

We both know it's not, but Jay just nods.

We reach the deck and he's quick to exit the elevator which makes me smile more than it should. Until today, he's been good at everything and afraid of much less than he should be. Maybe it's his innocence showing through, and it's a reminder of why I need to be careful. Careful with whatever it is we're doing. Careful with _him_ , too.

"Jesus," he whistles, walking forward beside me. "Look at that view!"

It's impressive, I have to admit. The buildings look like legos from up here, like tiny perfectly-constructed little models in a toy town with ant-sized people milling around below us.

"Bet even you feel like a giant up here," he grins and I smack him across the chest.

"Hey! I'm not that small!"

"Absolutely," he replies, his eyes sparkling again like deep, blue pools. "You're the perfect height for an arm rest."

To make his point, he rests his elbow on my shoulder and as much as I don't want him to be right, his hands are so close to my neck that goosebump have prickled all over my skin. "Tour guide and your furniture?" I say instead. "Don't get greedy Halstead."

We spend the next half hour looking at the city from various vantage points - including a glass-bottomed ledge where he holds my hand and snaps pictures of us pulling ridiculously goofy expressions - until it's dark and he declares it's time for that huge burrito I've been craving - fries too.

We walk until we find this tiny little Mexican cafe with a couple of white plastic tables and chairs - lawn furniture, where I come from - and we order from the woman behind the counter, who starts off friendly but grows increasingly impatient why Jay starts being fussy with his salad options. It makes me smile though, how he's so insistent on there not being any raw red onion in his burrito, and we finally take a seat once he's paid and tipped more than he needs to. That softens the woman though, and she tries to make up for her earlier abruptness with a stack of napkins and constant refills.

Not surprisingly, I don't manage all of my food but Jay eats his, then the remainder of mine so that all we leave behind are a couple of paper plates soaked with grease from the cheese and a smearing of soured cream where we've dunked the fries. He thanks the woman behind the counter who tells us "you cute couple," and then we leave the warmth of the little cafe.

"Anywhere else you'd recommend?" Jay asks.

He either has no clue that I've not experienced any of this before either, or he just genuinely wants me to decide what we're going to do, and so I think for a moment about where to take him to show him the side of this city he wants to see. I could take him on a very different tour but he's still looking at this place through rose-tinted glasses and I'm not gonna be the one to ruin it for him.

"Well it's too late to visit the zoo, so-"

"-One for another day then," he cuts in smiling.

"Yeah. The Navy Pier is good too, but it's a little far away to walk."

"So what does that leave us with?"

"The river," I decide. "We can get coffee and walk along a little.

"Just a little?"

"You really want to spend your Saturday night walking a freezing river with me when you could be at Severide's party?"

His resulting facial expression tells me he'd forgotten all about it.

"We can head back," I tell Jay, even though for whatever reason, I now really, _really_ want to walk the river with him. "I can catch the bus. You should be at that party right? Your team will be there."

"Guess I should," he concludes and my heart sinks. "But uh...I'd rather walk the river with you. If you still want to?"

I bite the inside of my mouth to stop the smile spreading across my lips but it's futile when he looks at me like he's doing now - all wide blue eyes and childlike uncertainty. "You sure?"

"You could tell me we're _swimming_ the river and I'd probably do it with you," he says, his voice so low and soft that I almost don't hear him.

"Maybe in the summer," I reply, letting the smile spread across my face so it reaches my eyes. "Too cold today." I bump my shoulder with his and he returns the gesture before settling his arm loosely around me so that my entire left side feels warm and tingly.

We walk the river and I don't want to go home.

X

I spend the following day tidying the apartment after Bunny's whiskey binge earlier in the week, then regret the vigourous cleaning when it makes me so hungry my stomach feels like someone is tightening it with a rubber band and I can do nothing about it because the items in our kitchen cupboards equate to peanut butter and hot dogs. Not really the stuff of gourmet meals, and so I'm forced to take a couple packets of ramen noodles from the 7-11 without being caught.

It ties me over until the following day though, when I head to school to wait for Jay at our table in bio. It turns out the principal has other ideas though.

"Miss Lindsay," Mr Davies says, acting surprised I'm here at all. "Your presence has been requested in the principal's office."

I have a momentary panic regarding the contents of my bag but I haven't seen Charlie all weekend and I know it's clean. I take the slip of paper from Mr Davies' outstretched hand and then turn to head back out of the door, bumping into Jay.

"Hey," he smiles, eyes twinkling as though his day just got better. "Where you headed?"

"Principal's office," I shrug.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

He steers me to the side with a hand on my upper arm, his voice low and thick. "You haven't...there's nothing in your bag right? Your locker?"

My cheeks flame at the fact he's asked that. I manage, despite the huge lump in my throat at knowing what he thinks of me, to grit out an "I'm fucking clean, Halstead," which makes him visibly shudder. He looks like I punched him in the face but he nods with a tight smile, holding up the coffee mug in his hand.

"I'll save half for you."

Him saving half, it transpires, is a fucking waste because I'm no longer a student of Rockwell High. Skipping school Friday turned out to be the final nail in my education coffin and even though the bag and locker search the principal conducted based on "circulating rumours" doesn't produce the drugs they're looking for, my grades aren't good enough to help.

I don't put up a fight. I'm not gonna beg this place to let me stay.

"We called your mom to ask her to attend this meeting," he tells me, like I'm supposed to care that they wanted to humiliate the both of us but only succeeded in getting one. "But your phone seems to be disconnected."

No fucking surprise there then.

"I'm sorry Miss Lindsay," he has the audacity to lie, and I don't bite my tongue when the responding, "Fuck you," rises in my throat.

I leave with my head facing forward but my eyes avoiding the open bio lab door. I won't watch Jay watch me go.

X

I go to Charlie's. I want to get drunk and I don't want to do it with Bunny and so I walk for the half hour it takes me to reach his place, trying (and failing) to ignore Jay's worried question in the doorway of the lab.

I try the door handle of his apartment but it's locked, and so I'm forced to knock. I know he's in there - there's no way he'd be up before noon and so I knock again, louder this time to wake him up.

He comes finally, shirtless with only a pair of boxers on.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, running a hand through his hair as I push past him and into the warmth. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"They kicked me out," I tell him, heading straight to the cupboard where I know he keeps his liquor. "My grades are crappy and my attendance is crappy. Oh - and they've heard rumours I'm dealing. So there's that," I bite, finding a bottle of vodka which unscrews less than easily in my shaking hands. I didn't have the luxury of Jay's gloves on the walk over here and I'm struggling to grip the metal cap. I manage it finally, and I'm halfway through a gulp when I hear a voice.

"Charlie? Who is it?"

I swallow, wince at the burn and set the bottle down on the counter. "Who the _fuck_ is that?"

I don't give him chance to answer though, just march into the bedroom where I find some blonde hoebag wrapped in the sheets. "You're cheating on me?!" The question comes out more high-pitched than it should; more broken than it should.

Charlie scoffs at that. "You're a kid Erin. This isn't cheating, it's-"

"-Then what the _fuck_ is it?" I spit. "She's in your bed Charlie. Your fucking bed where I sleep!"

"Yeah, when you need somewhere to stay or something to eat."

"You're my _boyfriend_."

He just looks at the girl sitting there who seems to be in no hurry to leave, and I feel tears sting my eyes. I whip around before I can give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry, and all of the time, Charlie just stands there like he's waiting for me to leave so he can get back on with what he was doing before I arrived.

I slam the door with a "Go to hell," and step out onto the concrete walkway. I don't get two feet along it before the tears spill over.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N - I have so much love for you guys right now. Your reviews for both this and _Negative_ have been so sweet. Thank you :)**

 **This chapter comes with a warning: there are some mature themes so if an M-rating isn't your thing, you might want to skip this one. Hope you enjoy x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I spend the entire school day - and then all of football practice too - worrying that Erin hadn't told the truth earlier, and that she did, in fact, have something in her bag that the principal has found. She hasn't returned my texts or answered my calls and I'm almost certain I saw her being escorted along the hallway earlier.

We train hard at practice for our upcoming home game and I take out my frustration on the passes I make. Coach Tutuola seems to think I'm some sort of passing God, but really, it's just a result of directed anger for a number of things, not least being the fact that my mom was stolen in the cruelest way possible and now Erin has been taken away too.

By the time I've showered, apologised again for missing the party on Saturday night, and towelled off, I'm starting to debate whether to just go round to Erin's place - or Charlie's (if need be) - to find out what the hell has happened. It turns out, however, that I don't need to do that. My phone vibrates with a text message from her:

 **Can I come over?**

I try not to look into the fact that there are no accompanying kisses and type my reply quickly:

 **Where are you? I'll pick you up**

Her response is instant:

 **Already in your neighbourhood. X**

My heart speeds up and my fingers tap furiously against the screen:

 **I'll be there soon. X**

I'm across the parking lot and pulling out of the school gates in record time so I can get to her before she decides it's a bad idea and then leaves. It's not quite rush hour but traffic is starting to build up and so I switch lanes where possible, earning a few beeps from other drivers who are less than impressed with my driving choices.

By the time I'm turning into my street, the rain has begun its inevitable appearance and I slow enough that I won't drive past Erin when I get to her.

I spot her a few yards along the road, sheltering under the branches of a tree that isn't doing that much to protect her from the rain - though neither is her jacket. I stop the car and make to get out but she heads around to the passenger side door and so I stay put, watching her as her hands - red and raw - reach for the handle.

"Hey," she says softly, barely even turning her head towards me. She's absolutely soaking and she's biting her lip to stop her teeth from chattering.

"Hey. You okay?"

She turns her head at that - only slightly, but enough that I can see her eyes so she doesn't have to answer with words.

"You want a shower?" I ask instead. "Get warmed up?"

Erin nods a fraction, watching me watch her. I place my hand on her knee, offer the tiniest of squeezes and put the car back into drive so I can get us to my house before hypothermia sets in.

Once I've parked up, I figure we need some sort of story. There's no way my dad or Patsy won't notice someone they've never met taking a shower in their bathroom and so I turn to the girl next to me who seems to have found something fascinating at her fingertips.

"I'll tell them your bathroom is getting renovated and the builders messed up something to do with the pipes." I say softly, not wanting to spook her. I barely receive a nod, though I know she's heard me when her lips form an almost inaudible "okay".

"Hey," I reach carefully for her fingers, letting my own ghost over them. Her breath catches at that; speeds up and deepens and yet somehow grows shallower all at once. If anyone is a contradiction, I figure, it's Erin Lindsay. "It'll be okay."

"Will it?" she asks, suddenly finding her voice which is rough in the quiet of the car.

"Of course." The words don't come out as convincingly as I'd like but we head inside anyway.

X

"Let me get you a towel Erin," Patsy smiles, heading towards the linen cupboard. I don't miss the way my dad's eyes are following me as I head upstairs with them, but I try my best to ignore the burning on the back of my head.

"Thanks," Erin manages, a tight smile across her lips which I know is taking most of her energy.

"It's no problem. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Oh, I uh...I'm-"

"-We were going to grab something on the way back to Erin's." I cut in. The last thing I want is for us to have to sit through a tense dinner, during which my dad will no doubt ask a shit ton of questions she won't want to answer.

"There's plenty of chicken and potatoes," Patsy offers. "It's no trouble Erin, plus it would be nice for Jay's dad and I to get to know one of his friends."

"That's really kind," Erin says and I frown at her. She doesn't return my expression. "Thank you Mrs Halstead."

"Oh, call me Patsy. Bathroom's the first door on the left. Can I get you anything else?"

"I'm good." Her voice is soft - laced with tiredness I think. "Thank you."

"We'll be downstairs. No need to rush."

She nods, takes the towel from Patsy's hands and slips into the bathroom. Her eyes meet mine just as she closes the door and I head downstairs.

My dad is sitting in his usual chair, no television on and he's not reading the paper either. This is his 'it's time to talk' stance.

"This girl the reason you're late home every night?"

 _Yes_. "No."

"Where does she live?"

Shit. I haven't prepared for this. "Uh, couple...or maybe like...six blocks away. The workmen that are fitting her new shower hit-"

"-Yeah, yeah, they hit a pipe. So what? They're not friends with any of their neighbours?"

"I don't know, I just thought...her mom was out so...I thought it would be better, _safer_ , if she showered here."

My dad nods slowly, like he's trying to figure out whether or not he buys my story. "You eat dinner and then you take her home. I want to talk to you about school afterwards."

"School's great dad. Really, I'm on the football-"

"- _I_ want to talk to _you_ Jay. I didn't ask for a report."

"Right."

"I'll be damned if you go the same way as your brother. Biggest disappointment of my life, him missing your mom's...her...he should've been here."

I don't say anything else. Somehow, things always head back to this place: dad's disappointment; mom's illness; Will not being here.

"I should go see if Patsy needs any help," I mutter, pushing myself up off of the couch so I can be anywhere but opposite him, suffocating under the weight of his desperation that I don't become my brother. "Lay the table or something."

X

We eat in an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by our forks scraping against the china and Patsy's occasional questions to Erin, all of which she answers without a hint of truth until she gives away that I've been helping her study. There's no mention of the diner and chili fries though, or the bad grades she's suffering from, but the admission acts as a welcome sign for my dad who takes the opportunity to probe further.

"What are your plans for the future Erin?"

"Um...I uh...I guess I haven't really thought yet."

I watch his jaw tense as he swallows his mouthful of potatoes. "Make a plan. Work hard. Stick to it," he says. "Jay's wanted to join the police academy since he was four years old and his mother bought him one of those pretend uniforms for Christmas. You know the ones - dress up clothes."

"Dad, she doesn't want to hear-"

"-Said he was gonna save the town from all the bad guys."

I watch Erin's face as she twitches her lips into some sort of smile, though her dimples aren't present and it doesn't reach her eyes.

"And then saving the town turned into saving the city. And yet he thinks _we're_ the bad guys for moving here rather than staying in a place where nothing happened."

She puts the final piece of chicken onto her fork and pulls it off with her teeth, setting down her fork carefully so it doesn't clatter against her plate. "Well, I guess _I'm_ glad you moved here."

I meet her eyes as she smiles - a proper one this time - and I can't help but return it. My dad looks satisfied and we finish the rest of our dinner (including the accompanying apple pie for dessert) back in silence.

Patsy clears the plates once we're done and instructs me to take Erin home "before her mom worries."

We both know that's not going to happen, but it's an excuse to leave and so I head back upstairs with her to grab her stuff from my room.

"Sorry about that," I say quietly, closing the door behind us. "They're...it can be intense."

"I had you wrong," she admits.

"With what?"

"How easy your life is. Or isn't, I guess."

I'm not sure what to say to that, so I just pick up her bag. "You good?"

"I guess," she scans my room like she's looking for something, but then her hand goes for the doorknob.

She thanks my dad and Patsy on the way out, and we're just about out of the front door before my dad issues his warning call:

"I want to talk to you when you get back Jay. Straight home, you understand?"

I refuse to answer him with actual words, so just nod briefly, then close the door.

X

"Tell me you'll be at school tomorrow," I say, starting the engine and looking across at Erin."That I'll get to sit with you in bio and-"

"-I won't," she cuts in quickly. "The principal suspended me indefinitely."

"What? Why?!"

She shrugs like it's nothing. It's her go-to response when she doesn't want to admit how she really feels, it seems.

"Erin…"

"I didn't have any drugs on me, if that's what you're thinking," she snips.

"I wasn't."

"Huh." It leaves her lips like a cross between a laugh and a scoff.

"So what was it? They can't just throw you out for no rea-"

"-Attendance. Grades. Being Erin _fucking_ Lindsay. Take your pick."

"But-"

"-So I went to Charlie's place to get drunk and forget about it. Didn't want to give Bunny the satisfaction of going home a failure in the middle of the day. She doesn't have the good stuff anyway."

I keep driving, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Making sure she's not going to bolt. Making sure she's safe.

"Only, when I got there, turns out I'm not his girlfriend. I'm just a kid. Like, there I am, trying to unscrew the cap off the vodka only my fingers aren't working because it's another fucking thing that doesn't work properly for me, and I hear this voice asking who it was."

I already know where she's going with this; why that look is in her eyes.

"So I march in there and some blonde white trailer trash _bitch_ is sitting in his bed - where I sleep - and he just looks at me like he couldn't give a shit that I've just found out. He just stood there and waited for me to leave. I heard him slide the chain back on the door as soon as I left."

I pull over to the side of the road as she sniffs, trying to hold back the tears I know she wants to cry. "Erin," I say softly, turning my body to face her.

"I blame _you_ sometimes," she whispers, her words slicing me in two. In _ten_. "For making me want something again. It was so much easier when I'd turned that off. When I didn't care."

"I'm sorry." My own voice is cracking.

"I don't want you to be sorry Jay," she says, her tone harder.

"Right." I don't ask her what she _does_ want: I'm not sure I'd like the answer. But then, all of a sudden, Erin presses her lips up against mine. I breathe in deeply, caught off guard, and inhale the scent of my shampoo in her hair and my shower gel on her skin. My eyes are closed and I don't know what my lips are doing - kissing her back, I think, but I'm numb. Paralysed. Her lips leave mine and I'm cold, and as if she is too, she leans in again, capturing the bottom one between her teeth so she can tug slightly. It doesn't hurt: not at all.

"Take me home," she breathes against my skin, and it's all it takes for me to have the car in drive and be speeding across to Garfield Park.

We say nothing more on the journey. I force my eyes to remain straight ahead - save for the checks in the mirrors - until I pull up outside of her building and finally drag them to the right.

"C'mon," she instructs, yanking off her seatbelt and exiting the car. I quickly follow.

"W...where are we going?"

"Upstairs." A kiss so hard I nearly rock too far back on my heels. "Bedroom." And another so my head is spinning and my skin is burning. "Jay," she urges. "C'mon."

I follow without question.

Once we're inside of her apartment with the door closed, Erin presses me against the wall, kissing the underside of my jaw so that there's this surge coursing through me and making it hard to even stand up straight. My hands rest at her waist, settling on an exposed strip of skin beneath the sweater she changed into earlier, my fingers pressing into her hips.

"Which way?" I manage to ask.

"That door," she nods, breathless, and I tug her with me, stumbling until somehow she's slammed the door shut with her foot and we've landed on her bed so she's lying on top of me.

Her hands go to tug up my henley, only she's at the wrong angle, and so she straddles my hips, sitting up so she has enough leverage to pull the material up and over my head. It lands somewhere on the floor, and her hands go for my zipper next but I still them, leaning up to kiss her and simultaneously pulling her back down so I can roll us so she's on her back.

Once she is, I tug up her sweater first, kissing and sucking at her neck below her ear so that this noise escapes her lips, sending a direct signal to my groin. I do it again, eager to hear the breathy little sound, then again, and again until she adds my name to the mix in a sort-of urgent, _hurry up_.

Her t-shirt goes next, joining the rest of the clothing somewhere in the room, though I couldn't give a shit about where. Next go her jeans in a scrunched heap, and I think she managed to kick her socks off in the process because they're somehow on the floor too.

I stop then, looking at her in her black bra and panties, chest heaving and her eyes narrowed so they're almost slits. She's watching me though.

"You're staring," she says, her fingers bracketing my wrists so she can pull me back down and seal my lips with hers.

"You're beautiful."

She ducks her head, embarrassed I think, and so I say it again. She ignores me, just searches blindly for my zipper again and this time, I let her. She inches down the material of my jeans - and my boxers - so my dick, already at half-mast, bobs a little between us. Once the last of my clothing reaches the floor, Erin pushes me back so I'm kneeling, then proceeds to bend her head and take me into her mouth.

Holy shit. Nobody, I figure, can know heaven until they've had this. I fight the grunt in the back of my throat and suck in a breath instead, already feeling a tightening. She adds a hand at the base of my dick and I'm nearly gone.

"If you keep…." I trail off as she twirls her tongue around me. "Erin if you...God, I'm gonna…" I can hear the desperation in my voice and yet I can't do a single thing about it. I try in vain to focus on something - anything - else, so this isn't over before it's started. I shift slightly, and it proves to be just enough that I slip out of her mouth and I get enough time to right myself.

I grin at her. "That was…" I don't finish. Don't even know what the right word would be, and so I guide her onto her back, reach my arms underneath her to undo the clasp of her bra, peeling it off of her, then tug gently on the sides of her underwear so she's laid out before me.

I kiss my way along her collarbone then head downwards, sucking at the skin in the valley between her breasts so that her hips are rising off of the bed in anticipation, I think. Further south I travel until she's holding herself almost completely off the mattress. With my hands at her hips, I guide her back down and gently press my lips against her swollen clit. A sort-of jagged moan leaves her mouth, and so I do it again, then again, before flattening my tongue and swiping a long line.

"God, Jay," she pants, twisting her hips so she can press herself against my mouth. I want to taste her. The inside of her. I can see her wetness coating the shaved skin around her pussy, and trickling slowly down towards her ass. Swiping once more with my flattened tongue, I then narrow it, holding it stiff as I sink it just a few centimeters inside of her so that her hips buck upwards almost violently. Quickly, I release my tongue so I can look at her face. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.

"Don't…" she breathes, gasping. "God, don't stop. Do that again."

I'm only too happy to oblige.

Erin comes a few minutes later, gripping the sheets in her fists as I let her ride it out with my tongue lazily lapping at her folds until she's still and quiet. This lazy grin spreads across her face as she reaches a hand towards me, stroking languidly.

"You're good at that."

Best damn compliment I've ever gotten. I grin at her, and it turns out that she's not finished. Parting her legs so she can curl one around my back, she uses her free hand to urge me closer towards her centre. I inch forward, brushing against her clit again and earning a soft moan. She guides me into her, shallow at first, then a few strokes deeper until I'm buried inside of her walls and feeling pretty much like if the world ended right now, it wouldn't even matter because this is the only place I think I ever want to be.

Her hips rise to meet mine and I rest my weight on my forearms, holding it off of Erin so I don't crush her, but she seems insistent on pulling me back down so I can bury my face in her neck and suck at the place just below her ear I know will give me that noise she makes: my new favourite sound.

"Faster," she instructs, coiling her leg around me tighter. I pick up the pace but I'm trying to hold off from this being over too quickly and she's making it really damn hard with the way she's grazing the skin of my chest with her teeth.

"Erin," I gasp, my rhythm faltering as I feel her clench around me. "I'm gonna…"

"I know," she breathes, looping her arms so that she can use my shoulders for leverage. "I know, just...God, just…"

She doesn't finish her sentence before I break, crashing over the edge and collapsing against her as she seals her lips around my skin in lazy kisses. Everything is fogged in the best kind of way and I find myself wondering, idly, if this is what drugs are like. The world is only just coming back into view when I hear my phone ring somewhere on the floor.

"Shit!" I mutter, realising I've already been away from home too long to just be dropping Erin off a few blocks away. "That'll be my dad."

"Say Bunny invited you in for coffee," she instructs as I fumble around my for jeans. I do as she says, but my dad isn't buying it and so he demands that I return home. I turn to look at Erin, who's clutching a sheet around her.

"That was…" I can't fight the grin as I look at her, pulling my clothes back on.

"Yeah," her own voice is raspy and soft, but I want more than anything to lie here with her for a while.

"I wish I didn't have to go. I'm sorry."

"It's not a movie Jay," she says softly, her voice more convincing than her eyes. "You don't have to hold me afterwards."

Thing is, I want to. "Right."

"So you're gonna be grounded tomorrow huh?"

"Probably." I finish zipping up my jeans. "Isn't going to stop me seeing you though."

Her smile seems to widen. "What are you going to tell your parents?"

"Extra long football practice. I'll call you later," I tell her, bending to offer a final kiss to her forehead, then her lips.

"Okay."

I leave, try not to focus on the smell of cigarettes coming from the livingroom, and drive back home, not even caring how long my dad shouts or lectures. It'll be worth it.

X

I'm allowed to school and then practice, but then it's back home. If I have homework to do with a partner, it takes place at the dining table, which is basically my dad's way of making sure that I can no longer tutor Erin (not that that's _exactly_ what we were doing all of the times we ate chili fries, but still) because, and to quote him: "You should be focusing on your needs, not someone else's."

Still, the beauty of my dad not actually caring quite enough to find out what my practice schedule is means that I can get away with saying I won't be home until half five, but still visit Erin after school.

I park up outside of her building and ring the buzzer. There's no answer, and so I ring again. She'd already told me she'd be in when I was done at school, so maybe she hasn't heard, I reason. I call her phone, but it rings off and when she doesn't answer the buzzer a second time, my heart starts to hammer a little harder. I press the buzzer a third time, and a forth until my panic rating ramps up enough that I know I need to get inside of that apartment. I know Erin's spent a lot of time not sleeping there, and although she's mentioned the cold and the lack of power, I figure it can't be the only reason she'd spent so many nights at Charlie's before...well, before last night.

We probably shouldn't have done what we did, and I wouldn't blame Erin for feeling like I've taken advantage of her - I'm angry that that was how we spent our first time together - but I _do_ need to know she's safe. I'll apologise once I'm inside.

I start pressing a few other buzzers until I've been told to "fuck off," three times and I'm at the point of kicking the door in (a few bangs would probably be all it would need) when someone finally lets me in and I head up to Erin's floor. The door to her apartment is closed, so at least there's that, but when I try the handle, it's locked. I knock, then hammer with my fist long enough without response that I'm about to start kicking at that door too, but then I hear a bang, another, then a succession of little thuds like someone rolling against the door, after which there's the sound of the chain sliding in the lock.

The door opens to reveal Erin with grey skin and smudged makeup, beads of sweat coating her forehead and her eyes are rolling.

"Jesus Erin!" I make my way inside, closing the door then propping her up half against the wall, half against me. "What did you take?"

Her hands go for my shoulders, trembling a little as she tries to grip the material. Her whole body is limp and heavy, and I can't get her to look at me. "Listen Erin," I try again. "I need you to try and remember what you took. Who gave it to you?"

She mumbles something horribly resembling "Bunny" and then a "S'fine."

"I need to take you to the hospital," I tell her. "Get you checked. Get your stomach pumped or something."

My words seem to work as a jolt to her senses because she manages a much clearer "No," at that.

I wipe her brow with my hand as she closes her eyes, letting her head flop forward so it lands against my neck. I feel her lips moving against my skin and strain my ears to try and make out what she's saying. "Was just to take the edge off," is what I think the words are. "Done it before."

"Where's your mom?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Out."

I can't leave her here like this, but I can't stay either. "I'm gonna take you to my house," I say, scooping her up so she's in my arms. "Remember when you came over the first time, and we snuck you in through the back door?"

There's a muffled "Uh huh," against my shoulder as I manoeuvre us out of the door and into the hallway.

"Well it's gonna be like that again. You're going to wait in the car and I'm going to come back and get you, okay?"

Her head lolls back violently and I shift my position to stop her from hurting her neck, letting out the sigh I've been holding in. "Okay Erin?"

"Okay," she manages, and I continue downstairs and out to the car, Erin pressed up against my chest like she's sleeping. By the time I set her on the seat, her eyes are back open again, and rolling slightly less. I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach and take her home with me.

* * *

 **A/N 2 - A few of you predicted something like this, and as for the sex, well, they're in high school. From personal experience, boys aren't too hung up on waiting for 'the right time' if you know what I mean ;) I hope you weren't disappointed. x**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for your lovely reviews. I know I say it all the time but I really appreciate the kind words and encouragement. This is probably the final chapter in the quick updates I've been managing as real life has hit and I'm back at work tomorrow after my Easter break so I won't be able to write and update anywhere near as often.**

 **That being said, I'll do my absolute best. Hope you enjoy this chapter**

 **Oh - and again, we're probably closer to an M-rating for this one too. Enjoy! x**

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Dangerous Love

I hear Jay's voice somewhere in the fog, the words "quiet" and "careful" and "upstairs" just about making it through. I'm moving, I know from the passing walls, but it's not as a result of my legs: I'm in Jay's arms, tucked in against his chest and I close my eyes again, let him take me to wherever it is we're going. A bed, the wall, the backseat of a car. It doesn't matter - he could fuck me anywhere and it would still be the best I've had if the other night was anything to go by.

I land somewhere that isn't his body and I try and force my eyes open to see where he's taken me. A bed, I gather, though not my own. It smells like him - all musky and comforting and I start to wonder if I can bottle that scent for the next time I have to _entertain_ other guys who don't seem to share Jay's standards of personal hygiene.

"Hey," he says, running a hand over my forehead so that this boneless feeling intensifies. I just about manage to open my eyes fully (or if not fully, then wider than before) so I can make out we're in his room.

I reach for his jacket, trying to pull it off of his shoulders but my fingers are clumsy and I'm struggling. I huff out of frustration and try again, but he grabs my hands in his and holds them against the mattress. So he's playing rough tonight? Okay.

"Erin," he whispers. "Stop!"

I try and focus on his face but it keeps rolling away. "Stay still," I try to tell him. "You're making me diz-" I realise too late that I'm going to throw up, and turn just quickly enough that the vomit misses the bed. Same can't be said for the floor though. I groan and open my mouth to apologise but the same thing happens again.

I try and lift my head but everything's heavy and difficult. There's a pounding there now, thumping against my eyebrows and my temple. Opening my eyes is almost impossible and I just lie there as I hear the door open and close, the room silent for a few minutes until the door opens and closes again and I know from the lack of shouting that Jay has returned, minus his parents.

He sets something down somewhere and I hear a sigh, like the one a disappointed parent or teacher would give a child. I guess that's what I am to him now though: a disappointment. Something wet brushes over my face then - a washcloth maybe - warm and soft. It goes away and I hear the sound of water being squeezed out before it returns, sweeping across my skin gently. Once it goes away again, something equally soft, yet dry returns in its place. When that stops too, I prize a heavy eyelid open and make out the guy who's been more gentle with me that I can ever remember anyone being. I love him for that, I think. Or maybe not love, but...something close.

"You okay?" he asks softly, bending down so he's eye-level. So I can see the clear blue of his irises, despite the haze of the pills. It's lifted a little in the last minute or so - no doubt something to do with the vomit - and so I know what's coming next in this fun little cycle of the come down.

"Yeah," I answer weakly, hating the way my voice sounds. "You weren't supposed to see me like this. You think I've been good."

"I don't know what to think," he admits, making my stomach drop. Can't blame him though. "If you take a shower, someone will find you," he says. "So I thought maybe you could use this?" he gestures to the washcloth and dishbowl full of water. "I can get you some of Patsy's bubblebath to make it smell nice, or-"

"-Thank you," I cut in. "That's more than enough. And I'm sorry about your floor."

He shrugs like it doesn't matter but we both know it does. "It'll clean."

Sitting up is a struggle - more because of my headache than the heavy limb situation - and realising this, Jay scoops an arm around me, easing me gently upwards so I'm propped against his headboard and I can see the mess I've made on the floor. The only thing I can be thankful for is that I haven't eaten all day, so there's a chance it could have been worse. When he's close like this, I can smell him so strongly that I think my mouth actually waters, like my body has this involuntary response to his proximity and I can't shut it off.

"I can wait outside," he tells me, gesturing to the door. "Give you some privacy."

The guy had me naked in his bed last night, he's just seen me whacked out on Tramadol and he's concerned about protecting my modesty? I want to laugh at the contradiction he is.

"Why? Nothing you haven't seen before right?"

"Erin…"

"Don't," I snap, probably too loudly if we're trying to be quiet about this. I lower my voice but keep the same bite in it. He might think he's rescued me, but he doesn't get to look at me like that. "I'm not someone for you to pity."

"I don't pity you Erin," he answers, a little angry I think. "I'm hurt, but I'm not pitying you."

"You're _hurt_?"

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck pretty harshly. "I...Look, I'm gonna head downstairs and make up some excuse about doing homework up here. I'll bring you some toast up. You want coffee too?"

I don't know what I want. I kind of want to have never met him because then I wouldn't have to feel like this. "Coffee would be good." My voice sounds pathetic and the shame weighs down on me even more.

"Okay," he nods, then heads towards the door. Just before his hand reaches for the knob though, he turns and crosses the room to me, presses his lips against my forehead and leaves them there, inhaling deeply before pulling away. "I'll clean the carpet when I come back."

X

"So," Jay sighs a little, taking the empty plate from my hands to set on his desk so I can drink the coffee next to me. I'm wearing one of his t-shirts, a hoodie and sweatpants but the shivers are starting to set in and I'm pretty sure he's noticed because he's eyeing my body like he's not sure what it's going to do. "Will you tell me why?"

 _I can't get a normal job because nobody will employ me, so I took some pills to numb myself while I fucked a few men for enough money to pay the gas bill?_ Yeah, I'm sure he'd love _that_ explanation. I watch as he steps over the damp patch of carpet he cleaned while I ate my toast so he can join me on the bed. Of course he wouldn't try and get under the covers. I shift, inching over so he can lay next to me because I'm not sure I can lie when he's looking directly at me.

"Just...needed to take the edge off." There. Not a lie. Just, not the whole truth.

"The edge off what?"

"Being me."

Jay's adam's apple bobs in my peripheral vision and I know he's choosing his next words carefully. "And you've taken it before?"

I shrug, keeping up the pretence that this is fine. Normal, and yeah, for me I guess it kind of is. And I know it's not for him, but he doesn't get to be emotional over my choices. "A few times."

"Your mom though," he whispers. "Your _mom_ gave it to you."

And she introduced me to the first guy I took money for sex from too, but I'm not about to share _that_ information. "Yeah, well."

"Why d'you stay?" he asks, turning to face me. "You don't have any other family you could live with?"

"My little brother got taken into care when I was fourteen. DCFS said I could look after myself better and they didn't want to disrupt my schooling," I scoff and roll my eyes. "Not that _that_ part matters now. If they take me too...well what chance do I have of seeing Teddy again?"

My hand suddenly feels warm and I look down, watching the way he's linking our fingers together.

"We get him back," I continue, "and then I can take him somewhere away from Bunny. Somewhere she won't ruin him."

Jay brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses each knuckle. "Next time you want to take the edge off, will you call me?" he asks. "Let me come over? Take...take your mind off it?" There's a growing grin spreading across his lips - innocent, even though we both know his thoughts in that precise moment are anything but.

He's grounded though, because of me. Seems like without even trying, _I've_ ruined _him_ too. "Yeah," I lie. "I'll call you."

He kisses my hand again, then lays it back down beneath the covers and shuffles so he's lying with his head on the pillow next to mine. I do the same so we're pressed up against each other and I can tuck my head under his chin in that safe space between his shoulder and chest and neck. I don't know how long we lie there like that, him holding me against him so that when my body shakes involuntarily, it's not quite so violent a movement. It's not long enough though.

It'll never be long enough.

X

The worst thing about selling your body for money is the look that men have in their eyes when they're fucking you. It's the same way they look at objects, at things, like they're seeing them, but not _seeing_ them. There's a sense of entitlement too, like because they're paying $50 a screw, they can demand you lick their shoes or call them _daddy_ or just stay silent while they call you a filthy whore, but fuck you from behind without a condom anyway.

I shelter under the jutting roof of a building as a few spots of rain start to fall and sting my skin that I've scrubbed red raw in a failed bid to rid myself of that crawling feeling you get when you've been somewhere dirty. I might be making enough that we can pay the gas and electric bills but our water rates are going to be through the roof with the amount of showers I take.

I lean against the brick, then think better of it when the rough mortar jabs at my spine. My phone buzzes in my purse and I fumble my way around the ripped lining to find it, letting it go to voicemail when I see it's Jay. He calls everyday - before and after school, in the evening and then sends texts when I don't pick up. He knows I'm safe - at least, that's what I've told him - but other than that, I don't want him coming around, not if he's gonna try and _save_ me, or whatever grand plan he thinks he has. The further away from all of this he is, the better.

A car rolls around the corner and slows to a stop by my feet.

"You do a special?" the guy behind the wheel asks, referring to the sex on pills combo so many of them seem to like. If the cops spent their time testing drivers for drug use in this city, they'd have a whole lot more DUI paperwork on their desks, that's for sure.

"Course," I answer, lowering my voice as I step closer to the window. "What do you want?"

"You got any Molly?"

"Something like it," I say, "if you mix it right."

"How much?" he asks, "For you and the drugs?"

I take in the alloys and neat paintwork of the Honda and seize my opportunity to make a little more than usual here. "$120."

"Okay," he agrees, and I silently curse myself for not going higher. "Get in."

I slide into the passenger seat and that's when I know I'm busted. He's pulling out his police badge and gripping my wrists to stop me from reaching the door handle before I can even blink. _Fuck._ I've just set myself up for two charges.

"What's your name?" he asks, cuffing my wrists.

"Fuck you."

"Pretty."

"I spit and he puts the car into drive, "Go to hell."

"Pretty sure that's you," he has the audacity to say, and I clench my fingernails into my palms as hard as I can.

Once we arrive at the 21st district, I do my best sewer impression in reception, focusing most of my efforts on the guy who busted me who seems to be called Roman. The sergeant on reception doesn't seem to like him very much, so I decide if there's anyone in here I don't hate, it's going to be her.

"Erin!" I hear a gravelly voice say, faux-enthusiastically and I roll my eyes when Hank Voight comes into view. "Nice of you to pay us a visit."

"Blame this asshole," I spit, yanking my arm free of Roman's grasp.

I catch the sergeant on reception cock an eyebrow with a hint of a smirk before the Sylvester Stallone-wannabe decides I need to go with him up to his office. I'm not overly familiar with the interrogation set-up, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't usually involve the offer of coffee and a comfy chair. Still, gotta take what I can get.

"Take a seat," Voight says, gesturing oh-so-kindly at the empty one in front of his desk.

"Why am I here? Can't you just charge me and be done with it?"

"The way I see it Erin, is that you got two choices. One: I charge you; you get a couple extras on your criminal record, head back to that shitty apartment you live in and we do this all over again in the next week." He pauses and I think it's to ramp up the dramatic effect. This guy does have a flare for creating a scene. "Or two: you take me up on that little offer we discussed last time."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not coming to live with a cop."

"Look Erin," he sighs - the same kind of sigh Jay makes and I immediately hate him for making me think of the guy I try desperately every night not to call. "You're smart. You just got dealt a bad hand. Now you got a chance at changing it up. Finish school, go to college, get out of this city." He leans back in his chair like he's confident he's got me sold on this stupid fantasy. "What do you say?"  
"Book me for whatever you want and then let me go."

" _Really_?" His voice is condescendingly disbelieving.

"Really."

"You know I can put in a call to DCFS. Have them go round to Bunny's right now."

I think I manage not to flinch. "Are you trying to _blackmail_ me into living with you? Pretty sure that's illegal."

"So now you're concerned with the law?"

I huff and rise up out of my seat. "Can you just book me already? I've got stuff to do."

X

I jam my key into the front door and barge it open with my hip. The force will bruise it, but the damn thing's been sticking for months and it's only going to get worse in the warm weather.

By the time I reach my floor, feet killing me from walking across the city in these heels, I can already hear thumping music coming from one of the apartments. I pray to God it isn't ours (especially at gone 9am), but of course, as I get closer, it becomes more and more obvious that it is. Unlocking the door, I heave my weight against the right side of the wood of this one too, so it'll open, and immediately it crashes into something. A man. Passed out and looking, from the bloating of his stomach, like he's drunk his body weight in beer.

I follow the noise into the livingroom, where I find the woman who's supposed to be my mother practically riding some guy on the couch.

"Erin honey," she slurs, though doesn't exactly get up. "Where've you been?"

"Got busted by the cops," I snap, stepping over some questionable patch on the floor. "They tried calling you to come get me."

"I didn't hear my phone," she says, like she's real sorry she missed the call. "Did they keep you long?"

I shrug and bite my lip. I've been gone the whole night and my own mother hasn't missed me. "Just nine hours. They kept me in a _cell_ overnight, so I'd be safe."

"You want some?" she holds up a little bag with pills in - molly probably. "It's the good stuff. Take the edge off that anger?"

"I'm _angry_ because I got busted and my own fucking mom didn't care I was gone!"

"Now honey, you're just being a little overdramatic, of course I-"

"-Fuck you."

It's clear. Without the haze of pills or booze, it's all a hundred percent clear. We're not going to get Teddy back: he's better off wherever he is, with a family that has a backyard and a dog to play with, people who'll make him a snack when he gets home from school and help him with his homework.

Staying isn't going to do any good.

I leave the sight of Bunny on the couch and head to my room without anyone following. Pulling the card out of my pocket, I trace the numbers typed in dark blue ink, then fish my cell out of my purse. He picks up, abrupt and rough, after only two rings,

"Voight."

"Hi…" Things might be clearer, but it's hard to choke out the words. "It's Erin."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N - I love you guys. Thank you for your reviews and as always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

"So how come your girl's back?" Ruzek asks me as I fish the physics book out of my locker.

"What girl?"

"Look at this guy, trying to play it down," he grins, punching me lightly on the arm as Attwater laughs. "What did she do to get back in?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," I answer, shutting the locker. Their laughing stops, smiles turning into frowns.

"You're kidding right? You know Erin's back?"

Erin's back? At school? "What, _here_? As in this school?"

"As in this _hallway_ ," Attwater replies, nodding over my shoulder so that I have no choice but to turn and look. Sure enough, she's here, looking absolutely perfect in jeans and a sweater, a warm dark-green coat that I haven't seen before sitting on her shoulders so that she looks all kinds of cosy. She either hasn't noticed me or she's doing a great job in feigning ignorance, but finally she looks up, her eyes landing on mine and my heart just about stops.

My legs are carrying me across to her before I've registered that they're moving, and I know I'm looking at her expectantly because she glances down, back up briefly, and then down again.

"Hey," I say, so she has no choice but to meet my gaze.

Her eyes are clear when she does - no evidence of the haze like the last time I saw her over two weeks ago; no evidence of redness or black circles either. "Hey." Her voice is soft, dipping and lifting somehow, even in the one syllable she's just uttered.

"Are you back? For good?"

"With a few conditions," she shrugs, but that fake nonchalance she usually puts there isn't present. She's softer somehow, like all her hard edges have been scrubbed out.

"Such as?"

The bell rings then - of course it fucking does - and Erin eyes the watch on her wrist. "I can't be late."

"Right," I say, rocking back onto my heels because I'm just not sure what to say in this ten-second period of time the bell's allocated, and I'm also not sure what to think either. I know I'm _supposed_ to be happy she's back, and God, I am, but she could've called. Could've text. Let me know where she was. She didn't though.

She's pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and is waiting on me expectantly. "Lunch?" I stammer. "The cafeteria?"

Erin nods and steps a tiny bit closer, looking like she wants something else but then decides against it and backs away, almost like she's been burned. "Yeah. I'll catch you later."

I watch her walk away and then head to physics where I know I'll learn nothing because all I'll be thinking about is that girl and her dimples and those eyes that, today, are perfectly green and clear.

X

As if mother nature has sent a welcome parade for Erin returning to school, the sun is streaming through the cafeteria windows when I get there, taking my place in the queue for a slice of questionable pizza and a limp salad. The lunch lady is handing me a bottle of water when I feel a hand on my arm which shoots a surge of electricity all the way to my fingertips. There's only one person that reaction could come from, and sure enough, when I turn, I find Erin offering a somewhat apologetic smile.

"Hey,"

Sometimes I wonder whether she can add that rasp on cue.

"Hey," I return, noting her empty hands. "You not eating?"

"I uh...I've got a sandwich," she says. "And soda."

I raise an eyebrow because I've never known her to be anything other than hungry (save for when we've eaten chili fries or that time we got pizza or the burritos as big as her head) because she never eats lunch. Or breakfast.

"I guess I've got some stuff to tell you," she says by way of explanation. "It's nice outside. Wanna find somewhere we can go?"

" _You_ want to sit outside?" I ask. "You know it's not even officially spring yet right?"

"In case you hadn't noticed Halstead, I've got a coat." She leans in closer so her hair brushes against my shoulder and I get the scent of something different. Something not vanilla. "Keeps me warm and everything."

Good _Lord_ , she's good at that voice.

"Sure."

I pay for the pizza I'm probably not going to enjoy and we head outside, making our way past the table where some of the team are sitting so we can have this talk. And she can tell me where the fuck she's been for the past few weeks.

Not surprisingly, she knows all the best spots for talking without interruptions. She picks the back of the art department, leading the way so we have to meander around various 'sculptures' the school has displayed (or, not exactly _displayed_ , seeing as they're so far out of the way that only the stoners - and us, apparently - will ever see them) before we reach the sheltered strip of sunlight she sits down in. I'm pretty sure my slice of pizza will be cold by now, but I join her on the ground, balancing the plastic tray on my knee while she fishes around in her backpack for the sandwich she's brought. It's wrapped in foil, twisted to keep it fresh, and is accompanied by a bag of chips and a can of coke.

"Chicken caesar salad," Erin says, indicating the ciabatta roll.

"Never seen you eat that much for lunch before."

"Yeah well, Camille made it for me."

"Who's Camille?" I ask with a mouthful of Chicago's poorest excuse for pizza.

"If I tell you," she starts, taking a large bite of her sandwich and letting some of the filling drop onto the foil, "I need you to promise me something."

I swallow my food. "Okay."

"You don't get to feel bad for me."

" _Okay_."

"And you _don't_ get an opinion. I was fine before you got here and I'm fine now. Just like I would've been fine if-"

"-Erin," I cut in, because she's babbling and that can only mean that she's trying to cover how she really feels. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I wanna know where you've been, but telling me is your choice."

She sighs out a breath and turns to look at me properly. "You're the best person I know, you know that?"

No, actually: I didn't. But she can be damn sure I'm going to remember those words. Erin leans her head against my shoulder and we sit like that for a moment, chewing in silence until she clears her throat.

"I never apologised."

"For what?" I ask dumbly. We _both_ know what she means.

"How you found me. Making you sneak me in. Promising I'd call you." The _and then not calling_ stays unspoken, but the words are still heavy despite them not leaving her mouth.

"I don't want to find you like that again," I admit.

"Me neither."

I know she can't promise I won't. Still, I'd rather find her like that, than...you know... _worse_. She crosses one leg over the other and sucks in a breath.

"I got picked up by the police," Erin starts, so beginning her explanation of where she's been; why she's back. I remain quiet, focused on the way her lips rub together during her pauses; the way her head cocks slightly upwards and to the left when she's telling me a specific detail she's ashamed of, like the action is somehow countering what she's done - defiant when she should be expressing sorrow. There's a strand of hair she fingers when she's talking, absently, pushing it back behind her ear and tugging it free again when she needs something to do with her hands.

It's hard to listen to - the arrest ( _for a couple things_ , she says, not offering any more details and I won't ask) and the offer this Officer made her; the choice she made to return to Bunny and that God-awful apartment with its flimsy lock and stained carpets; Bunny not answering the call to pick her up; the party she'd returned to and the nervous statement she'd choked out to Hank which signalled she needed help, needed him to made good on that offer, all without explicitly saying so of course, because if there's one thing Erin Lindsay can't admit, it's that she needs help.

I try not to be jealous that it was someone else she called, and not me - tell myself it doesn't matter now because she's safe and _that's_ what matters, not the fact she didn't dial _my_ number; string a series of words together to imply she needed to sleep in a bed in _my_ house for the foreseeable; eat a sandwich made from ingredients in _my_ refrigerator. And yeah, it doesn't matter.

But it does, somehow.

It _does_ matter.

"Fucked up huh?" Erin says softly, raising an eyebrow like she knows I've heard enough.

"Yeah," I breathe, the word coming out heavier than I'd intended, but I'm not sure what else there is to say. She's right: it's all kinds of fucked up.

"So now you know," she says, scrunching up the small section of her sandwich that she hasn't eaten so it's nestled back in its little foil package. She makes to stand - to leave - and I still her with a hand on her knee. It's like a reflex, touching her.

"It's okay Jay." Her voice is that soothing kind of soft, a perfect lullaby timbre. "You don't have to say anything or… _be_ anything for me. I get it."

Except she doesn't get it. Not at all.

My hands act before my brain can register their movement, cupping her chin to draw her face towards mine. They're doing something of a grab-cum-tilt and I'm just slow enough to process that her eyes are slipping closed and her lips are parting, mouth open ready for mine. It's somehow slow and soft and hard and hurried all at once, like my body doesn't know whether to take my time with her or consume her; take everything she's giving but all I know is whatever this is, whatever _she_ is, is consuming _me_.

It's more than sparks igniting, more than smouldering embers finally taking hold. It's a damn wildfire, kissing Erin. Her sandwich forgotten, she moves closer, grabbing the edges of my jacket where the zip hasn't closed it so she can sit atop of my thighs and I can pull my arms around her, sealing us into this cocoon where my veins are fizzing and the back of my neck feels like someone's stabbing a thousand needles into it in the best way.

She makes that noise in the back of her throat, the one that travels straight to my dick and if I didn't know any better, I'd think she was driving me crazy on purpose, testing my limits to see how much I can take. And I'm greedy with her, we both know that: I'll take whatever she's giving. And more - if I can.

Erin drags her lips off of me, resting her forehead against mine while she gasps in enough air to smile, grinning her dimples onto her face as the wind whips her hair around us and that smell from before hits my nose: coconut, I realise. She smells like coconut.

The realisation conjures up an image of her lying on the beach in a tiny string bikini, all tan and freckles and natural blonde highlights emerging in her hair. It flickers to that of her in the sea, splashing water and laughing, reaching for my hand to pull me into her and then shrieking when a wave knocks her off balance and we both tumble under, coughing and spluttering when we make it to the surface, but ultimately, insanely happy. I think of the cabin next, of skinning dipping in the lake and warming up in the hot tub and I get an idea. One I don't want to tell her about; one that should be a surprise, if she'll let me.

"I missed that," she sighs softly, burrowing under my chin so she can shelter and part her lips lazily in a series of semi-kisses against my neck. I tighten my arms around her and already know those eyes of hers are closed.

"I missed it too," I say, swallowing and feeling her nose brush against my skin.

"You still grounded?" she asks, the words vibrating against my skin so I can't help but smile.

"Don't think so."

"You wanna do something this weekend?"

She asks it so tentatively, as if there'd be any chance that I'd ever say no. I'm pretty sure my face is in danger of splitting in two and I'm kind of glad she can't see me.

"Like a date?"

"Or just a…" she falters, putting those walls up; securing the top with barbed wire.

"I wanna date you," I tell her, tracing patterns on the back of her coat that's padded so thickly I'm not even sure she can feel it. Erin draws her head back, peeking up at me - undecided, I think, about whether I mean it. How could I not?

"Hold my hand in public?"

I grin and press my lips against hers, nudging them apart gently so I can trace the bottom one with my tongue. When I pull back, her jaw is slack and I feel my ego swell a thousand percent.

"Or that."

" _And_ that," I tell her, capturing her lips once, twice more, again and then again until she's tumbling against me and exploring my mouth with her tongue.

Inevitably, the bell interrupts us.

X

I have the best week I've had since arriving in Chicago. I meet Erin by her locker each morning, kiss her hello and smile as she lets me drape an arm around her shoulders so she can play with the fingers of my right hand as I walk her to class. She comes to practice and sits on the bleachers, her book in her hands so she can simultaneously study and shoot me a wink when I make a good pass, and I want to thank whoever made the coat she's been wearing that's allowed her to spend so much time outside. I drop her at Hank and Camille's (which, as it turns out, is only a couple blocks north of where I live) afterwards, waiting until she's gotten inside and offered a slight wave. Each time though, she shuts the door quickly so I don't get to meet these new people in her life.

I endure family dinners and extra homework so my grades are good enough that my dad won't question my going out at the weekend, and finally, Saturday evening arrives. I head on over to Hank and Camille's to pick Erin up for the movie we're going to see, parking up behind a huge black truck. Once I've climbed the steps of the porch, I knock on the door and don't have to wait long before it opens. It's not Erin on the other side however, but some guy who looks like he's about to simultaneously have a heart attack and knock me flat out.

"Hi," I manage, forcing the stutter out of my voice. "I'm here to pick up Erin."

He doesn't tell me to come in, but opens the door wider so I assume I'm supposed to cross the threshold into the house.

"Erin?" he shouts up the stairs. "There's a boy here for you."

I'm pretty sure he says the word _boy_ with the intention of making me feel like I currently do. This guy would get on well with my dad, I figure. "Jay, right?"

I swallow and nod. "Yes, sir."

"Erin tell you what I do?"

"She said you work for the CPD."

"Intelligence," he states, wide-eyed. "I catch professional criminals on a daily basis. And you know what professional criminals have Jay?"

"Guns?"

He laughs, except it's just more of a burst of air and his skin gets really red. More red than it already is. I'm actually a little scared. "Yeah, they have guns. And they also have really good hiding places. They're evasive. They hide things. And I _always_ find out."

I think this can go down in history as the world's most thinly-veiled warning.

"I don't wanna have to go looking for anything when it comes to you and Erin."

The girl in question appears then, dressed in an outfit I haven't seen before which makes me wonder whether she's got it specially for tonight. Not sure why, but the thought makes me smile. She looks gorgeous.

"Hey," she smiles, showing that set of dimples I love.

I can't help but return it. "Hey."

The man in front of us - Hank, obviously - clears his throat and then turns to Erin. "Thought I made the no-dating rule pretty clear."

"We're studying," she responds quickly before my stomach even has the chance to sink.

"On a Saturday night?"

"Yep."

"Where are your books?"

She holds up the bag she's carrying. "In here."

"You can't study at the table?"

" _Hank_ ," I hear another voice say. This one's different - warmer - and warning him to ease off, all in just one syllable. It belongs to a woman who joins us in the hallway, smiling at me. "You need some money for snacks?" she asks. "I know studying always used to make me hungry."

Now I feel bad for going along with Erin's lie. Sneaking around behind _my_ parents' backs is one thing, but these people? It's a little different. "I've got it," I say. "But uh...thanks."

"Okay," she smiles, and squeezes Erin lightly on the arm. "Well don't study too hard. Remember to have breaks."

I already like her.

"I'll drop her home," I say, then have a slight panic that I've used the wrong noun to describe this place. Nobody flinches.

"Curfew's half eleven," Hank warns and I nod.

"Got it."

"Bye honey," the woman (Camille, I'm guessing) smiles, shooting a wink at me too. Something tells me she knows this isn't exactly a study date. Still, we head out of the door and I keep my hands to myself which, I'm pretty sure, is the highest form of torture when all I want to do is run my fingers through Erin's hair and pull her into me so I can kiss her hello properly.

We climb into the 300, I start the engine and drive around fifty feet down the road when she instructs me to pull over. I do, worry rising in my throat but then she all but pounces, attacking my lips with such fury that I'm caught off guard, knocking my head back against the window somehow. Erin giggles - actually _giggles_ \- into my mouth, but then uses my jacket to pull me back against her and I'm so down for wearing it in summer too, if that's the use she's going to have for it.

"Wanted to do that to do as soon as I saw you come down those stairs," I gasp against her skin when she finally pulls away to grab some air.

"Yeah?" she steals another kiss. "Well I felt the same."

"We've lied to them."

She shrugs. "I'm not about to tell them the truth if this is what we're missing out on."

I debate her logic and figure yeah - I'm not about to tell them the truth either. "You're smart."

She tugs at my jacket again, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she leans in one more time. "Tell me something I don't know."

I'm pretty certain I could kiss Erin Lindsay every minute of every day for the rest of my life and still it wouldn't be enough. The scent of her coconut shampoo is intermingling with her perfume and some lotion she has on her hands to make them soft against my scruff. Her fingers aren't red tonight.

Reluctantly though, I still my lips against hers because if we're gonna catch this movie, we kind of need to get going. She returns to her seat and already, my lap and my face feel cold, like they need her skin against mine to warm them again.

"So what movie are we seeing?" she asks once I've put the car back in drive.

"Thought you could choose."

"I want a horror film," she says.

"So you can hide in my jacket when you're scared?"

"I don't get scared," she answers, something in her tone I don't recognise. "Horror movies are more realistic."

I laugh, but it's more forced than I'd like it to be. "You thought The Ring was realistic?"

I get a shrug. "More realistic than The Notebook."

"So you're not the kind of girl who'd want to watch Pretty Woman every time we watch something together?" I joke. "Thank God!"

Erin doesn't say anything more, just purses her lips together into a thin line and fingers the cuffs of her coat. We drive in a semi-comfortable quiet until we reach the movies, at which point she jumps out, waits for me by the hood of the car and lets her fingers poke out from the sleeves of the thick dark-green material of her coat. I grin, knocking them gently with mine to see what she'll do, and when they curl around the ends of my own, I lace them carefully so we're tethered together while we head inside.

We stand in line and Erin rests her head against my shoulder. Queuing with her never seems so bad, unsurprisingly. To her pleasure, Rings is playing in fifteen minutes and so I buy the tickets and the popcorn, she chooses this weird blue fizzy slushie stuff that'll probably wreck her insides and we head inside of the theatre to take our seats at the back. The positioning was her choice, and even though I've never sat this far away from the screen before, I've seen enough movies to know where this is headed.

Sure enough, around half an hour in, Erin appears to lose interest in the movie during some scene that has something to do with a chamber under a bell tower, I think, but it's hard to follow when she's rubbing her hand up and down my leg in exactly the right way to make it impossible to concentrate. She scoots closer, burrowing against my jacket while making this sort-of humming noise against my neck that I already know has goosebumps erupting across my skin.

I turn my head to look at her, to try and figure out just how far this is headed, and when she responds with a single lifted eyebrow and that smirk written across her lips, I know it's already gone further than it probably should. The popcorn, for now, remains in my lap as Erin slips her hand across my chest to trace seemingly innocent patterns on my shirt. Her lips start nipping gently at my neck, little pricks of delicious pain that always give way to a wave of pleasure when she laves the wounds with her tongue. Sometimes I wonder whether she's a professional kisser: she's that damn good.

Next, Erin works her way up my jawline as a few gasps sound out around us. My eyes dart around to see if we're the cause, but then I realise someone on the screen has just been attacked - by whom, I haven't got a clue - and so I resume my attention on keeping my head from lolling back and a moan from escaping my mouth while my dick tests the strength of my zipper.

Controlling myself gets even harder when Erin suddenly pulls away, glances around to check nobody is watching and then shimmies out of her chair and onto her knees. She removes the bucket of popcorn from my lap, setting it beside her so she can look up at me and _Christ_ , I almost lose it there and then. Her hands go for my zipper as she watches me with this look in her that I can't quite determine. I'm about to tug her wrists so she'll come back up to her seat but then suddenly, I'm springing free and she has her warm fingers wrapped around the base of my dick. Needless to say, my protests die on my tongue.

The rest of the movie might as well be white noise. Neither of us hear or see anything but each other.

X

I turn onto Erin's street - or Hank and Camille's street (I'm still not quite sure how to reference it and I don't want to ask her) - pulling over a little before the house with the truck in the driveway.

"What're we-"

I seal my lips over hers before she can finish her sentence, tucking my hand into that space behind her ear so I can hold her hair off of our faces. She sighs happily against my lips and lets her palm rest on the side of my jaw, the softness of her skin like silk against mine.

"Just wanted to kiss you goodnight," I say, my voice affected far more than I've ever been used to. "Something tells me Hank isn't going to like it if I try and do that on the porch."

Erin smiles, kisses me once more and then asks a question that makes me laugh. "What were we studying?"

"What?"

"If he asks. What we were studying?"

"Reciprocal rules," I decide.

"I don't know much about that."

"Precisely." I steal a kiss because her brow is furrowed and she looks too cute for me not to. "S'why we were studying it."

She kisses me once more, slowly, like she's savouring it, and then lets her head fall back against her seat with a resigned groan. "I can't break curfew."

I sink into my own seat and put the car back in drive.

After Erin climbs out, heads up the porch steps and turns to give me a small wave before slipping inside of the house, I stay sitting in the car for a good few minutes, attempting in vain to gather myself enough to process exactly what happened at the movies. All I know is that I have to do something for her so she knows how much she means to me. Fooling around again in front of the big screen isn't going to cut it.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N - Sorry this has been a while in coming, but hopefully it's long enough that you'll forgive me. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review last chapter, and also thank you to all of you who reviewed Paw Patrol - your words are so kind :) I've finished this chapter on a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc so if there are mistakes, I blame the wine.**

 **WARNING: This is probably dangerously close to an M-rating. If that's not for you, skip this one.**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I'm halfway down the stairs and smoothing out my top when Hank stops in his tracks at the bottom, doing this thing with his mouth which makes him look like he's chewing something, except he isn't.

"Thought you were just working on a project," he says, eyeing me with suspicion.

"We are."

"Why the change of clothes?"

I shrug and hope he's not an expert on body language like he seems to be an expert on everything else. Sneaking around in this house is proving more difficult than I'd imagined it would be. "I was hot."

He eyes me once more, mutters something about turning the heating down, then stalks off towards the living room. I still haven't gotten used to the whole ridiculously over-protective thing he does. Until a few weeks ago, I was sleeping in Charlie's bed and selling myself to pay the gas bill. I hardly need protecting from Jay.

The doorbell rings a few minutes later and I answer it quickly before Hank or Justin can start quizzing the poor guy on whatever subject makes them feel like they're winning the proverbial pissing contest.

"Hey," he grins, eyeing my change of clothes appreciatively. "You look-"

"-Halstead," Hank cuts in, appearing from nowhere and making me jump a little. Working for him must be a complete ball ache. Bet he doesn't even let his team enjoy a cup of coffee without creeping on them.

"Hank," Jay nods, visibly gulping when his eyes narrow at the use of his first name. "Uh, sir. Thanks for letting us study here."

"You always thank people when they let you use their kitchen table?"

"I do if they're letting me stay for dinner," he says, automatically stepping towards me and then clearly thinking better of it, stepping back again.

"Table's this way," Hank says, and we follow him to the kitchen, eyeing each other as surreptitiously as we can.

"Jay," Camille smiles as we enter the room, popping her wooden spoon back into the pan of pasta sauce so she can talk to him properly. "How are you?"

"Good, thank you," he replies, shifting his weight somewhat nervously. "Thanks for having me for dinner."

"It's not trouble," she smiles again, "especially when you're going to be studying so hard." There's a wink towards us while Hank is busying himself at the fridge with a beer - another reminder that she knows this isn't purely a study session. There's some sort of unspoken agreement between us that she won't tell if I don't, and so we leave it at that because they seem like the kind of people who would want to give us some awkward lecture on not having sex, even though we all know how ridiculously pointless _that_ would be.

"Why don't you make a start?" Hank says, a question which, in reality, is a thinly-veiled order.

"Because dinner's nearly ready," Camille replies and so I offer a grateful smile at that before she turns back to salt the spaghetti. "Hun, why don't you get the kids a drink?" I think I hear a dissatisfied grunt from Hank but he does as she asks, pouring water so that neither of us get any ideas about enjoying a cold Sam Adams with him.

Justin joins us just before Camille serves the spaghetti and a tense atmosphere settles over the table, mainly because he and Hank spend the entire time shooting questions at Jay about his future until Camille tells them to quit the interrogation. Turns out they have nothing else to say.

Jay doesn't help himself when he offers to do the dishes once we're finished, something that gives cause for Justin to scoff about "buttering up the parents of the girl he's banging," which silences everyone for innumerable reasons - not least the use of the term _parents_.

Jay _does_ respond with something to do with the cook shouldn't be having to clean too, at which Camille wraps him in a hug he's not expecting, whispering an "I like you, kid," with her warm smile. She stacks the dishwasher anyway, sending Justin and Hank into the livingroom to watch the tv while we pull out our books to start this not-entirely-legitimate homework assignment. If someone had told me a couple months ago that I'd be faking homework so I could spend time with Jay Halstead, I'd have rolled my eyes and told them to kiss my ass. Things change, it seems.

She puts a packet of peanut butter chocolate-chip cookies on the table, smoothes down my hair as she passes, then tells us not to study too hard before closing the door behind her and leaving us to it. Jay waits all of three seconds before leaning in to kiss me, inhaling deeply as he cups the side of my face with his hand. I steal another kiss and let my hands rest on his thigh so I can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jeans.

"Hi," he smiles. "You look beautiful by the way."

I look down - an involuntary response - and so he tilts my chin back up towards him to press his lips against mine. "You _always_ look beautiful."

What do you say to _that_? I'm never sure of how to respond when he says things like that, when he _looks_ at me like that, and so I just snuggle into his side, humming out a sigh as he flips open the calculus textbook. I know most of what I need now, so it's a good cover incase Hank decides to come in and quiz us. His rules on dating might be ridiculous, and I'm not about to adhere to them, but getting caught because we haven't been careful enough seems a stupid reason to lose what I have here.

"I want to take you on a date," Jay says softly. "With dinner that isn't at a diner."

I've never been on a date before but I'm not about to tell him that so I position my eyebrows to flirt enough that I don't give him any reason to suspect anything. "Oh really?"

"Really. Candles, soft lighting, music, Italian food."

"How do you know I even _like_ Italian?"

" _Everyone_ likes Italian."

I shrug. "And when are you proposing to take me on this date?"

He grins. "When we've thought of a reason for you to need to study at mine on a Saturday night. Give it a week; maybe there'll be a science fair at school."

The grin appears on my lips of its own accord and he kisses it gently.

We spend the remainder of the evening stealing kisses and nibbling cookies. I don't think we look at polar functions even once.

X

"He's nice," Camille tells me once Jay's gone and she's shredding some pork she cooked earlier in the day so Justin, Hank and I can have those insanely tasty sandwiches she makes for our lunches tomorrow. I'm still not used to it - her mothering me with good food and clean sheets and the gentlest of touches against my hair - and I don't want to get used to it either: if it was all taken away, I'm not sure what I'd do.

"Yeah," I reply, sealing the bag of cookies up so they stay fresh. "He is."

Somehow though, nice doesn't seem enough to describe him.

"How much does he know?"

I swallow. "Enough."

She turns at that, watching my face.

"He's met Bunny."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A few moments of quiet, and then, "Hank likes him."

I scoff at that, because I'm pretty sure the interrogation over spaghetti was the opposite of demonstrating a liking to anyone.

"You think he'd be in that living room drinking beer if he didn't?"

I consider her words, then voice what we all know is true. "Jay's good. Like, really good. _Too_ good, sometimes," I admit, "For me."

"Erin," Her voice is sterner as she crosses the room, placing a hand on each of my shoulders. " _Nobody_ is too good for you."

I know I deserve more than I got with Bunny as a mother. But I'm not sure I deserve Camille.

"How come you haven't told Hank?" I ask. "About Jay and me."

"Hank knows he made a few mistakes when it comes to Justin," she says. "And I know he'll try and make amends for that with Jay. And Jay isn't his to make amends with."

"Am _I_?" The words slip out before I have chance to rein them in and ram them back down my throat; hide them deep inside where they belong.

She sighs softly, her brown eyes open and honest. "He'll never tell you this, but you remind him of himself, when he was younger. Each time he invited you here and you declined, he came home so disappointed in himself. It was like he failed you. And, obviously, in failing you, he failed himself. He just wants you to succeed Erin. I guess, if anything, he's worried that in getting involved in a relationship, you won't focus on yourself."

For a while, I don't say anything. I _can't_ say anything. But finally, I manage to choke out a thank you. Camille envelopes me in a hug and kisses the top of my head, exactly like Jay does, except it feels different, like there's a distinct undertone that isn't present when he does it. Not good, not bad. Just different.

"You know, when we found out I had cancer, back when Justin was only five, I was so thankful that the chemo worked, but it destroyed any chance we had at having more kids and all I could think about was how I'd never get to have a little girl. And then you decided to come here and I was so happy because when I'd pictured having daughter, you're exactly what I always imagined. Just promise me you'll be safe," she says, "with Jay."

"Promise," I grate out through the spikes that seem to be in my throat. "And thanks," I whisper. "For…"

"I know," she grins, hugging me and then releasing me just as fast, like she knows I can't take any more. "Go join the boys. I'll be done in a minute."

I do as she says because I'm pretty sure if I stay in this room any longer I'll be bolting out the back door anyway.

X

I wouldn't wish getting sick on anyone, but when Jay's dad and Patsy have to take a trip to Wisconsin because her mom's not doing too well, it throws up the best opportunity for my very first date night and it's really hard not to be grateful.

I tell Hank that Jay's parents have invited me over for dinner and that we'll be studying afterwards, and he's blatantly suspicious but Camille steps in, offering to drop me off knowing that Hank - most likely - will either sit outside the house for the duration or something else equally as absurd. Sometimes, I wonder whether I should remind him of my short-lived vocation before I arrived here, except there's the chance it could make him worse than he already is when it comes to Jay and me, and so I decide not to, settling instead for a "thanks Camille," before anyone gets any ideas.

She drops me off and Jay opens the door, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the house. He kisses me before I've even removed my jacket: a long, slow kiss that makes my toes scrunch up in my boots and my heart stutter out of rhythm for a while.

"Hey," he smiles like he always does when he's stolen all the air from my lungs and I'm doing my best to remain upright. "Dinner's almost ready."

No guy has ever cooked for me before - not like this. The table is set with a white cloth and silver cutlery and I take my seat as instructed while Jay sets the sizzling dish in front of me.

"Lasagna?" I question, inhaling the delicious smell of cheese and ragu.

"My mom's recipe," he replies, sitting down beside me. "Or at least, an attempt at it."

There's something about him cooking this dish for me that means something I can't place. Of course, it's delicious, and I swallow mouthful after mouthful until I'm so full I can hardly move. He just grins when I tell him it's the best lasagna I've ever had, and I want to add that his mom would be proud, except I don't. I hold the words back and smile instead, pulling him towards me by his shirt so I can kiss him and tell him _that_ way.

His kisses escalate. They start slow and chaste, reserved, and then grow in depth so that he's exploring my mouth with his tongue and I'm snatching at pockets of air even though I'd gladly drown like this - in Jay's kisses.

Suddenly though, he pulls away, ducking his head. "I uh... I'll be right back."

He scarpers off, heading upstairs and I'm left wondering what on earth has happened until few minutes later, he returns, holding his hand out. He says nothing and I rise from my chair, lacing my fingers with his as we climb the stairs. Along the hallway we head until he stops outside of his bedroom door. He opens it and my heart catches and stutters a little at the sight.

He's lit a whole load of candles like they do in the movies so that the room is bathed in the softest of lights. I look back at him and he's watching me carefully, waiting to gauge my reaction in case he's got this all wrong and he needs to apologise. I don't know why he's always so unsure when he's never done anything but the _right_ thing by me.

I kiss him, leaning in gently - probably more gently than I've ever been with anyone ever. His hands travel to the sides of my face, the callouses on his palms rough and yet he's so careful, holding me in a way that he can pull his lips away from mine to flutter them against my forehead, then each eyelid, sweeping down to my nose and under my chin so that something inside of my chest clenches and I think I feel tears pool in my eyes. It catches me off-guard, that feeling. I pull at his shirt, my fingers fumbling for the buttons so I can speed this whole thing up so whatever it is can go away.

Jay stills my hands though somehow, with only one of his and a press of his lips to mine. I watch to see what he's going to do, standing with my back against the doorframe so he can lean into me, inhaling from my collarbone up to my ear and _Christ_ , it does something to make my legs weak. He leaves a kiss just below my ear and then repeats his motions at the other side so that by the time he's done, my entire jaw is slack and I'm pretty sure I'm halfway to moaning.

I feel his hands around my thighs then. Snaking across my jeans from the front to the back so he can hook his fingers around my legs to hoist me into the air. Vaguely, as he kisses me again, I register that we're moving towards his bed which is where he lays me down on top of the sheets. I reach again for his shirt buttons but he sews his fingers in with mine so they can't work the little plastic discs from their holes.

Instead, he lifts my sweater with his free hand, tugging lightly as I pull away from the mattress so he can free the material over my head. It lands on the carpet with barely a sound and my t-shirt goes next. Finally, he lets me undo his buttons which are harder than I'd imagined when my fingers are trembling like this. Even when it was my first time, I wasn't this nervous. Tonight seems more monumental, somehow.

When Jay's shucked his shirt, he returns to my chest, dancing his fingertips from my sternum, along the valley of my breasts and over the front clasp of my bra to my navel. It tickles and burns all at the same time. He repeats this once, twice more, and then on the third time he uses his nose and a light graze of his teeth instead so that my hips rise off of the bed involuntarily. I'm afforded a shy, pleased grin and when he looks up at me, I know he's asking if he can undo the clasp sitting between my breasts.

I pop it for him, peeling the cotton away and discarding it somewhere on the floor while he's busy staring. Staring and gulping and looking almost like a rabbit in headlights all of a sudden, until I sew his fingers back in with mine and lean up to dust kisses across his chest. He seems to stutter back at that, eyes dropping to mine and searching - always searching - to check I'm okay.

I nod, a fractional movement of my head up and down quickly so I don't have to speak and break whatever this is. I wait to see where his hands will go next, my breathing shallow and rapid as they reach my skin just above the top of the jeans I'm wearing. Jay doesn't remove them though. He just traces some invisible patterns, staring at nothing in particular like he's hypnotised by something I can't see.

Suddenly he makes a move for my zipper and the metal button, his fingers deft in making short work of removing the jeans so I'm lying only in my underwear. I can hear deep breaths which I think are coming from him and so I let my own breaths slow enough that they're in time with his. There's a look in his eyes when they return to mine that I can't discern and I'm not entirely sure I want to because nobody's ever looked at me the way he's doing right now. It's almost suffocating and so I reach up with my palms either side of his face so I can kiss him. His tongue slides into my mouth and my stomach clenches deliciously again.

He won't let me speed anything up. Every attempt I make to reach for his belt buckle is met with his hands capturing mine, lacing his fingers through each gap mine leave so he can keep them by my side. It's all well and good but I need him to put his lips somewhere else.

Finally, he does. He drags them over my skin so that his stubble brushes against me, half-way to relieving the ache that's built up and yet somehow also making it worse. His hands leave mine - somewhat reluctantly I think - so he can massage his thumbs over my nipples, grinning that signature smile of his when I can't stifle the groan that escapes my mouth. When he replaces his thumbs with his mouth - hot and wet and insistent - the groan changes pitch of its own accord and, somewhere in the fog, I think I hear his name leave my lips.

With his mouth still on me, he hooks his fingers into the sides of my underwear and pulls them down until he has to pull away to rid my legs of them completely. I'm well aware that my breathing has spiralled close to being out of control but when Jay settles between my legs, kissing his way from the inside of my thigh, up and over my clit and back down the other side, I can't find a scrap of me that cares.

He licks with his tongue. It's a straight line, long and hot and impossibly generous. He repeats this again and again until I think words like "faster" and "more" start to tumble off of my lips in quick succession. I can feel him grin against me; know he's pretty proud of himself when he inserts a finger and I damn near leave the bed what with my hips rising that much.

By the time he tips me over the edge, I'm coated in a sheen of sweat and I can hardly see, but my vision clears just enough that I can watch him crawl back up towards me with only his boxers separating us. He nuzzles in against my neck, leaving wet kisses with his lips that I think, vaguely, must be covered in my juices. It's kind of embarrassing and I want to wipe at my skin, but when I turn my head to look at Jay, he captures my lips, his tongue delving into my mouth and it catches me so off-guard that the feel of him exploring overtakes everything else.

He's more than ready, I can tell, and so I reach down to the waistband of his boxers so I can shimmy them down his legs without his mouth leaving mine. Somehow, we manage, and I grin against his lips as he bobs against my stomach but when he enters me, I'm pretty sure the grin vanishes as I tip my head back and let the moan leave my throat.

My walls accommodate him as he sinks further inside of me slowly, careful to take his time. Once he's buried to the hilt, he lets his head fall into the crook of my neck and then starts to move. It's almost torturous - the pace he sets - inching out and then pushing back agonisingly slowly. It's enough to have my insides start to coil but never enough to make me come.

Keeping his weight off his arms becomes harder and so, much to my disappointment, he slides out of me, somehow maneuvering us so that we're facing the same direction but his arms are wrapped around my chest, holding my back against him as he enters me again. It's more intense this time - that fire in the pit of my stomach sparking and flaring, growing more fierce as he reaches down to press his thumb against my clit. My back starts to arch and his hold tightens, his palm splaying out over my left breast as he speeds up further and my legs start to tremble.

I'm off that precipice before I've even registered what's happening and, distantly, I think I recognise that he is too, sputtering against the back of my neck as he grips my body against his.

Sex with Jay Halstead is like nothing I've ever experienced.

X

"Why do you keep doing that?" Jay asks as my eyelids drag upwards in tiredness, his fingers playing with a strand of my hair.

"Doing what?"

"Forcing your eyes open." He drops a kiss to my crown.

"So I can talk to you," I say, omitting the real reason: I don't want to miss this time with him - this absurdly comfortable hold he's got me in that I never want to leave. He's so warm and safe, creating a perfect little cocoon with only his chest and arms, which I figure must be some kind of unappreciated talent. _I_ appreciate it though.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything," I mumble, pressing even closer against his chest and rubbing my nose along the skin there. "Tell me about Bayfield." I just want to listen to his voice.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything," I yawn. "Everything."

He starts with its proximity to the lake, the tree-lined streets and the scattering of weatherboard houses along the roads; the seafood restaurants serving chowder and garlic-chilli shrimp; hot summers; damp winters. A high school where he knew everyone; where he wasn't on the football team, but played lacrosse - a rich-boy sport, I think, idly, as his fingers leave my hair to start drawing circles on my arms.

And then his voice alters. Dips and shifts pitch so I have to work harder to listen despite having given up on the battle to keep my eyes open. He tells me about his mom's cancer and the failed treatments; the innumerable hospital visits; the greyness of her skin and the light slowly draining from her eyes. His brother - Will - older and full of promise, running from it all in South Africa under the pretence of charity work when really, they all knew he was getting high in Cape Town and wasting money on God only knows what else. The funeral: so much black on such a sunny day. Meeting Patsy who was too much too soon - too nice, if anything, because he suspects that although his dad loves her in some way, it's not right. Not the right way.

"Not like I love _you_ ," he says, breathing in from my hair like he always does. Casual, like he hasn't just given me _everything_ in a single sentence.

I don't say anything. _Can't_ say anything. Just dig my fingers into his bicep and tilt my head so my lips brush his neck. I leave them there so when I breathe in, I get both his scent and his taste all at once.

I'm not sure what else he tells me because this bed is so comfy and he's so snug and safe and my body's so heavy that I'm drifting off, heading out of consciousness and away from this living fantasy where he loves me and I love him - even though I haven't voiced it yet.

X

A relentless buzzing rouses me. It's hard, at first, to register what the sound is and where it's coming from when I'm wrapped in a haze of sleep and Jay. Reluctantly, I pull myself up and off of his chest to search it out, then realise it's my phone.

Shit! I catch sight of the time as I reach over Jay to grab it, mentally calculating how far over curfew I am .

"Erin!" Hank barks down the line. "Where are you?"

At possibly the worst time, the boy next to me starts to stir and I put my finger to his lips: a signal for quiet before he even opens his mouth.

"At Jay's. I'm sorry, we uh...fell asleep and-"

"-I'm coming to get you," is all he says, hanging up as soon as he's finished that final syllable and so I climb across Jay, quickly pulling on my discarded underwear as he questions me without using words.

"Damn it Jay! We fell asleep," I mutter, shimmying into my jeans. "I broke curfew and Hank's coming to pick me up."

"Shit!" he curses, throwing back the sheets so he can find his own clothes, hastily pulling them on so that he's ready in case we're not actually fast enough to beat the doorbell.

It turns out we are though - a good few minutes faster to be precise - and I'm able to make it down the porch steps and to the sidewalk before Hank pulls up in his truck, face thunderous and all kinds of red.

"You're grounded," is what he greets me with. "For two weeks. And that includes study sessions."

I'd argue but it seems futile, and besides, it's worth it to have spent the night like I did.

We drive the rest of the way back in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N - Sorry this has taken so long! You know the score - work is ruining my life haha. Thanks to everyone for reviewing last chapter and pressing for an update.**

 **Thanks also to those of you who reviewed the second part to Paw Patrol :)**

 **Hope you enjoy this x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

Spring Break arrives with welcoming sunshine and a wind from the south that elevates the temperatures a good five degrees more than usual. There's been a decided shift in the air, like the biting harshness has bowed out without an encore; the sun climbing higher to resume its position of authority.

It's dark now though, the air outside of my window cool and fresh as I feel for the key in my pocket that I know is there. Still, it doesn't hurt to check one more time. The curve of the metal is smooth against my thumb and I pick up the sports holdall with everything I need for the trip to the cabin.

It's silent in the hallway as I creep past dad and Patsy's closed door, along further - past the bathroom - until I reach the stairs. I avoid the one that creaks, my feet soft on the carpet beneath, and almost forget to breathe until I get to the bottom. I feel with my hands so I don't knock over the lamp and give the game away before it's even started. I've gotten this far: snuck the key to be copied one day after school last week and replaced it before anyone knew it was gone. I can't get caught out now.

Carefully, I make it past the obstacles of furniture: coffee table, arm chair, the basket of logs that sits by the fireplace for mere decoration, then to the front door. The lock clicks as I turn it and my breath catches high in my throat as I feel the blast of cold air hit my face, but I'm out. I've done it.

Erin's waiting on the sidewalk outside of Hank and Camille's when I pull up, just a fraction of a yard over the driveway of the neighbours' house. She's clutching a bag and wearing a smile too, so I know she's coming. She hasn't changed her mind.

"Hey," she says softly, climbing inside of the passenger door and swinging her bag onto the backseat before she settles in her own seat to pull on her belt.

"Hey." I can't help myself: I have to kiss her. I let my hand rest against the side of her face as I press my lips to hers lightly, pulling back before allowing myself one more steal. Her dimples are grinning at me when I release her face from my hand.

We drive out of the city, Erin resting her feet in their cosy wool socks on my dash, her fingers idly drawing patterns on my left hand as I rest it on the edge of my seat, palm up. We don't say much: it's late (or early, depending on your perspective) and I know she's tired because I am too, having stayed awake long enough to pull this secret trip off without a hitch. Yet.

I have a few candy bars in the glovebox in case we desperately need a sugar hit but I'd rather she sleep. I figure she could probably sleep for the rest of the year and she still wouldn't have caught up on all the nights she spent awake before moving in with Hank and Camille. Tilting my head to look at her, I catch Erin staring unashamedly.

"What?"

She shrugs. "I've never left Chicago before."

Most of the time, it's easier to play these admissions down when they surface. I know that sharing these facts isn't easy for her, and so it's a huge deal when she tells me little snippets - no matter how small - of her life before I moved to Chicago. I think I already knew this but I know I don't get to make a comment regarding the unfairness of it all.

"I'm glad I get to leave for the first time with you."

Erin rests her palm over mine and I'm almost glad I can't speak because I'm not sure what to say to that. There's no end to the amount of first experiences I want to give her.

Around a half hour later, she spots a sign for a gas station and tells me to pull over. I figure she needs coffee or the bathroom or both. Despite the empty lot, there's no way I'm letting her go to the bathroom alone and so I exit the car too, unable to stop the grin that crosses my lips when she hops over to tuck herself in at my side. She tugs me against the wall and we spent the next ten minutes forgetting all about coffee and snacks and the bathroom. Only when I feel my jeans growing more uncomfortable do I pull away, snatching at air as I rest my forehead against Erin's. Her lungs are fighting for oxygen too but she seems intent on making them wait, sucking along my jawline so I end up having to brace my arms against the wall.

"How long," she begins between the kisses she's laying against my throat, "until.." another kiss, "we get..." and another, "to the cabin?"

My hands are in her hair and I have no idea when they got there. This girl makes me lose my damn mind. "Three hours," I guess as she licks at my neck behind my ear, the sensation sending a shiver from my fingers to the top of my head. "Maybe closer to two and a half if I…" I stutter as she nips at my earlobe with her teeth. "Floor it."

"Then floor it," she demands, pulling far enough away from me that my entire centre of gravity shifts. "I wanna get you in that hot tub."

Well _fuck_. I want her to get me in that hot tub too.

X

Dawn's breaking when I finally pull off of the road and into the cabin's yard, killing the engine just as Erin jolts awake a little too violently for my liking.

"You okay?" I ask, reaching my fingers over to her knee.

She turns her head sleepily and lets her lips curve into a small smile. "Yeah." She looks out at the view. "We here?"

"Yep."

"S'pretty," she hums, stretching her limbs so that I get a peek at the sliver of pale, taut skin exposed by her sweater.

"Uh huh."

I get a grin when she catches me staring but as cute as she looks curled up in my passenger seat, I need to get her into that bed so she can rest properly. Besides, I need the comforting softness of the feathers too. That, and Erin of course.

"C'mon," I say, nodding towards the cabin.

She climbs out dutifully and leans against my side as I carry our bags in one hand. I decide I rather like sleepy Erin, especially if it means she's all soft and lazy limbed like this. It seems that little stop at the gas station stole the last of her energy.

I unlock the door and lead her inside, setting the bags down on the floor so I can tug her by her sweater so she's flush against me. She hums her approval at our proximity as I scoop her brown waves in one hand so I've got all of her face in its sleepy warmth.

"Bed?" I ask, brushing my lips over hers. "To sleep?"

I don't want her to think the only reason she's here is so I can spend the next few days having sex with her and doing nothing else. I actually want to show her this place. Still, it's not like I'd turn down any of her advances if they came my way...

Erin forces her lids up so she can look at me and I can't help but smile. I'd gladly have her look at me like that for the rest of our time here. (And beyond, too.) "I hope you're bed's comfy Halstead."

I grin and lead her down the hall. "It is."

We fall onto the mattress without anything but our underwear and yet I'm so tired that I know I'm not appreciating the view she's treating me to. We each send the single text we'd discussed before coming here - hers to Camille and mine to my dad - to let them know we're together and we're fine. Beyond that, there's nothing more and we switch our phones off again. As much as we know how much of a grounding we're going to get on our return to Chicago, it's worth it for a few days uninterrupted.

I lay my head back against the pillow and feel Erin snuggle into my side, mumbling something unintelligible as she tilts her head so she can rest her nose in the crook of my shoulder. Combing my fingers through her hair, I work the waves back so they're off of her face and dust my lips over her crown before I'm out.

X

When I wake, it's to the best sight. Erin's looking down at me, fingers tracing my eyebrows, then my jawline, and as she reaches my chin I realise she's removed her bra at some point because her chest is bare. My lips curve into a grin of their own accord as she dips her head to kiss me.

"I like waking up to you," I tell her honestly, grinning further as she starts to chase kisses along my chest and down towards my belly button. She doesn't talk, just continues her journey south until her hands are at the top of my boxers, ready to tug them down. When they do, I decide that like probably isn't a strong enough word: I _love_ waking up to Erin.

We spend at least an hour longer in bed, fooling around and finding places on each other's bodies we haven't explored before, like the birthmark she has at the bottom of her back and the strange white scar I have on my left ankle - the result of a nasty bat to the leg one little league game back in junior high.

She suggests we shower and I offer her the bathroom first, telling her I'll find some towels when she stops me, a delicate hand on my arm.

"I want to shower with you."

"Oh," is all I manage. _Oh_.

We clamber into the stall once the steam has fogged the room enough that the air is humid and sticky. I press Erin up against the tiles, laying kisses along her shoulder blades which result in her head dropping forward to expose more of her neck, my hands snaking round to her breasts so I can massage her nipples and earn that moan she makes. I've only heard it a few times but I'd gladly do whatever it takes to get her to make it again. And again.

"Jay," she practically whimpers, arching her body so I'm both closer and further away. I think I know what she wants and so my right hand starts its descent down the flat planes of her stomach, cupping her folds and drawing a long, shaky breath from her lungs. I nuzzle her neck, sucking at the skin there as she puts one of her hands flat against the tiles so she can support her weight. Rubbing my fingers slowly back and forth, I listen to her breaths over the pounding rain of the showerhead, smile when they quicken in time with my strokes and then allow my teeth to graze her shoulder as I sink a finger inside of her. The action results in a moan - louder this time - and so I repeat it until she's making one continuous sound that only stops when I withdraw my finger and replace it with my dick.

I decide this is my favourite place on earth: inside Erin.

Eventually, the water grows cold and I shut it off, wrapping a towel around her before I grab one for myself. We don't say anything as we dry but I notice her watching me carefully, her eyes always trained on my body even while she towels off her own. Once she's dry though, she drops the bale of cotton to the floor and leaves the bathroom without so much as a second glance.

I wonder, as I'm folding my own towel - and then hers - if it's weird to _like_ that I hardly ever know what she's thinking; that she's unpredictable enough to always keep me guessing what she's going to do next.

I find her back in the bedroom, pulling on some clothes - minus a bra - and genuinely looking happy.

"You want breakfast?" I ask. "Could head to the store in town."

"I think we missed breakfast," she says, pointing to the clock beside the bed; it's almost three in the afternoon.

"Guess you're right."

"I wouldn't say not to a sandwich though." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and a droplet of water drips down onto her t-shirt, darkening a tiny patch of the red material. "You want me to run out and get some stuff?"

I pull on underwear and jeans quickly and then search my bag for the henley I packed. "We'll go together."

Erin lets me lace my fingers with hers as we walk along the road, stealing kisses every so often just because we can: there's no bell, no parents, no curfews or rules to interrupt us and I start to wonder whether we could extend our trip beyond the scheduled few days so we get this for longer.

The breeze is light and the sun's warm, dancing dappled beams of light onto the road between the gaps left by the blossom trees. It's the first time since moving to Chicago that we haven't needed jackets and it feels almost stupid to appreciate the weather this much. That is, until I look over at the exposed skin on Erin's arms at the same time she asks what my take on a naked hot tub session would be.

"I'm down," I manage, and she grins up at me, those dimples dancing either side of her lips and so I steal another kiss.

We buy enough groceries to last us the few days we'll be here and then we carry them back to the cabin, arms aching by the time I set the bags down beside the door so I can unlock it.

"You gonna teach me to fish, Halstead?" Erin asks, a challenge in her voice, and yet, it's dripping with something else too. Something decidedly not innocent.

"Depends," I say, taking the key out of my pocket. "You gonna be a good student?"

"Aren't I always?" Those eyebrows of hers are raised.

"I can think of a few times," I begin, making to pick up the bags but nipping at her earlobe gently instead. "Where your focus…" another nip, "wavered."

"Short attention-span," she breathes, allowing her eyes to slip closed. "Hot teacher." She parts her lips in waiting for mine and so I oblige. "Easily distracted."

Right when she thinks I'm going to kiss her again, I reach for the bags, hauling them inside as she stands there, mouth open incredulously.

I feign innocence."What?"

She narrows her eyes. "Shouldn't tease me like that Halstead: you have no idea what I'm capable of."

Thing is, I'm pretty sure I do.

X

We spend the rest of the afternoon lounging on the chairs in the backyard underneath the sun, talking about everything and nothing as I play with the fingers on Erin's right hand and she toy with the hem of my top with her left. Under this kind of light I can see the olive undertones of her skin - hidden by so much red and paleness during the winter months. There isn't a single freckle on any part of her exposed body, though mine are littering small patches on my arms and I know the ones on my cheeks will be surfacing too.

I build the fire even though it's not particularly cold because despite the sun, the evening temperature drops pretty quickly and I don't want Erin to be cold. Besides, once we're done in that hot tub, we'll need to dry off…

We eat our way through the bag of paprika chips we bought from the store and then Erin brings the carton of olives over, using a dessert fork to stab each one before popping them into her mouth. I can't understand why she likes them so much but they remind me of the first time we went for pizza and she ordered them on the pepperoni pie, so despite hating the taste, I don't hate the things themselves.

"So," I start, clearing away the packaging. "How serious were you about this naked hot tub thing?"

She smirks, shrugging, and I know we're about to start some sort of game. I leave the counter behind and let her tug me out of the patio doors gently, her path heading straight for the covered tub I switched on earlier. My heart speeds up and I can already feel my dick twitch in anticipation. We stop at the tub and I remove the cover, the cloud of steam puffing upwards, and I watch as her hands go to the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up and over her head so all she's wearing is her jeans and the panties underneath. No bra. Just her naked chest.

"Pretty serious huh?" I grin, pulling my own top over my head so I'm shirtless too.

"Thing is," she says, undoing the button of her jeans and _fuck_ , I think I'm already at half-mast and she isn't even naked yet. I rid myself of my jeans - and my underwear too - so that I'm all ready to climb into the water with her. "I said that what I wanted..." _Christ_ , her jeans are finally off and all she's dressed in is a tiny pair of red lace french knickers which - I decide instantly - are my new favourite thing. I climb into the tub and gesture for Erin to join me, but she shakes her head - intent on finishing what she has to say first. "Was to get _you_ in the hot tub." She bites her lip sinfully and raises an eyebrow with that faux-casual shrug she does. "Never said anything about me."

She makes to scuttle away, and yeah she's fast, but my reactions are faster. She's trapped in my arms before she can even pick her feet up to run, shrieking as I lift her up and over the side of the tub. She lands on my lap with a none-too-graceful splash but her nipples are brushing my chest and her lips are smothering mine and I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

X

"What're you thinking?" Erin asks, dancing her fingertips along my chest.

"That I always want to wake up like this," I answer honestly. "With you."

She grins, dips her head - almost embarrassed, and snuggles further into my side. "Me too."

I drop a kiss to her crown and pull her just that little bit tighter into my arms because this is the last time we're going to have the luxury of this for the foreseeable future. "You know, we still haven't been fishing."

" _That's_ what you wanna do today?" she questions with a raise of her eyebrow before her lips move to my neck, just below my ear. "When we've got this bed…" she trails off, punctuating her words with a kiss. "And this house…" same again. "All to ourselves?" Her kiss turns into a lick and _Jesus_ , how is it possible to want someone like this _all the time_? "You make a good point."

"Of course I do. For a moment there Halstead, I thought you were done."

I let my hand travel down to that space between her legs and determine instantly that _she's_ definitely not done. But neither am I. "Never."

Her breath catches a little. "Good."

Not surprisingly, we don't go fishing. Instead, we spend the rest of the morning in bed until the sheets are pretty ruined and we both need a shower, after which Erin pulls on the plaid shirt I brought, pairs it with panties and nothing else, and expects me to be able to concentrate on scrambling some eggs.

We eat brunch, although it's way past lunchtime too, so really it's just eggs and toast in the middle of the day, and then finally, the time comes for us to pack up our stuff. Erin attempts to make the bed but her efforts leave a lot to be desired and so I wait for her to use the bathroom and pull all the creases out of the sheets while she's gone.

"Could always stay longer," she says, leaning against the doorway. "Or just never go back."

I allow a small chuckle but we both know it's forced. It's not like I'm in any hurry to get back to Chicago either but I can't risk what she has with Hank and Camille. Erin crosses the room to me, leans in and we just stand there for a few minutes. "Just…" she says so softly that it's almost a whisper, "drive back slow, ok?"

My lips close over hers. "Okay."

X

The drive back is pretty quiet. Erin's staring out of the window like she has been pretty much the entire journey so far, which has afforded me plenty of time to think about the grounding we're both going to get; the inevitable sneaking around we'll have to do; the way my bed's always, _always_ going to feel cold when I wake up without her there.

I start to wonder what might be in our future after we've graduated - whether she'll decide she wants to go to college and move hundreds of miles away while I train in the academy. And if that does happen, I think, I'd do all the driving I'd need to on a Friday night so we could wake up together on a Saturday morning.

But then there's the possibility of Erin not going to college, or even going to somewhere like Northwestern, and we'd be able to get a little studio apartment - fall into bed together every night and wake up together every morning; lay tangled on the couch while we're watching a movie or the game, hands wandering, lips dusting kisses wherever they can reach (forgetting about the tv: things escalating. _Quickly_ ) buying a coffee machine and arguing over how strong to make it - me losing out because I'll always give her what she wants (and I'll start to want my coffee strong anyway, and I'll moan about people who make it too weak) Coming home to find Erin with flour splattered on her face and in her hair because she'll have tried to make a batch of cupcakes that will inevitably go wrong, but I'll eat them anyway because she'll stick a candle into one and sing me happy birthday, tell me to blow out the flame and make a wish. And of course, I'll wish for something that involves her.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks for the second time today, toying with the cuffs of my shirt - the one she's still wearing because 'it smells like musk and cinnamon'.

The kaleidoscope of potential future memories spins in front of my eyes and I look at her for a second, bathed in sunlight and looking utterly perfect. "Nothing."

I think I catch a disappointed expression but I can't tell her all of it.

Like a bad omen, the city comes closer into view, the buildings growing taller and more menacing for some reason as I take the exit.

"You want me to come in with you?" I ask her. "Tell Hank and Camille it was my idea?"

She shakes her head. "Your dad...you're probably in worse trouble than I am."

We don't say anything more until I pull up outside of the house, Hank's truck missing from the driveway.

"He's at work," Erin says, reaching for the handle. "Means it'll just be Camille."

"That's good," I reply, wondering why it suddenly seems awkward - this moment of leaving each other. "Hey,"

She turns to look at me just before stepping out. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

Her dimples appear briefly before she exits the car but she doesn't say it back.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N- Thank you all for your lovely reviews. As a side note, I feel like there aren't many new stories on here or works getting updated - anyone else feel the same? Are any of you guys writing any Linstead fics to get us through this break? If not, please get typing :)**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter - don't forget to leave a few words :) x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I hear the roar of Hank's truck as he pulls up in the driveway, followed by the resulting silence as he kills the engine. From my bed I can see the driver's side door open and close, and I watch as he glances up towards my window, then the sky as if implying some sort of terrible plague is about to come. His face is already red and I'm torn between feeling guilty for making him and Camille worry (although I hadn't expected them to care _this_ much) and pissed that he thinks he can stop me from seeing my boyfriend.

The front door opens and slams shut, signalling Hank's entrance, after which I hear Camille's ever-calm voice hushed and somehow stern.

"Don't go too hard on her."

"Erin!" he barks from the bottom of the stairs - pointedly ignoring her - and I stay where I am. I wonder if he expects any of his suspects to talk when he uses that tone. Never worked on me… "Get your ass out here!"

Like that order is going to make me hurry any more. I stay where I am, lying on my bed waiting for Jay's text. I can take whatever Hank and Camille throw at me but I'm almost certain his dad will have something far worse for him lined up; I need to know he's okay.

The wood of the bottom step creaks as Hank ascends, giving me a heads up so I can stash my phone. We can't plan on sneaking out if we lose our means of communication. I'm just smoothing the pillow when my bedroom door flies open to reveal Hank - red-faced and very obviously furious.

"What the hell was that?"

"What?" I ask, knowing it'll push his buttons and yet the word leaves my mouth anyway.

"A week away without telling us! You don't get to just sneak out in the middle of the night like that."

"It wasn't a week. And I _did_ tell you," I counter. "I text Camille so you knew we were safe."

"Well we _didn't_ know. When you're staying here, you live by our rules and that means no trips away and no boys."

"You can't stop me from seeing Jay."

Hank chews on something - maybe it's gum or maybe it's the side of his mouth. Either way, when he speaks, his voice is rough and low. "Watch me."

He holds his hand out, palm up, and I stare at him, saying nothing. "Your phone," he instructs.

"What?! No."

"You can have it back when you've earned our trust again."

"I don't give a shit about your trust," I spit, even though that's not entirely true.

"Well when you do," he says, reaching deftly under my pillow to swipe the phone before I've even realised what's happening, "let me know. Until then," he continues, holding it up with a raised eyebrow, "I'll keep this."

He turns to leave and I screech a "Fuck you!" at him, but the words don't even make him flinch. I spend the rest of the evening ignoring Camille's offers of something to eat or drink, and think only of Jay and what he might be suffering. We should have stayed at the cabin for the whole week.

X

Night are the worst. There's mindless tv during the day; magazines to read in the back yard; a shopping trip with Camille that I don't want to go on but end up doing so anyway because she tells me we need to get a few sets of clothes so I don't swelter in the upcoming summer city heat (and she uses that tone so I feel obliged to accept my fate). Nights though, are quiet. They're cold without Jay's arms and Jay's chest and Jay's scent. It was only three of them that we spent together, naked and happy and tangled up unapologetically in cotton sheets, but enough time, somehow, to get greedy and spoiled. Enough time to commit plenty of details to memory so that we both know what we're missing when we're not together.

An owl hoots and I throw back the sheets, glancing at the clock: 01:13. Enough time to sneak out to Jay's and get back again before Hank's up for work. I dress silently, pulling on a thick sweater over my camisole and replacing my pajama shorts with a pair of jeans. I don't bother with socks - just one more thing to have to take off when I get there and put back on again when I leave - and so opt for the navy chucks Camille bought me earlier. There's a small stab of guilt when I open the box, yet not enough to keep me from going to see him. _Never_ enough to keep me from that.

I pull up the sash and shiver involuntarily in the cool breeze. Days might be getting warmer but nights are still edged with a chill that reminds the city winter isn't fully done with us yet. It's a delicate dance - prising open the window - between the squeak of the wood and the breaths the weight of it steals from my lungs, but finally it's open far enough that I can squeeze out. I don't shut the sash all the way - leaving just a small enough gap to get my fingers under when I return.

I run for as long as I can, stopping momentarily at the corner of the block just before Jay's so I can catch my breath and stop my lungs from screaming. I keep going though, my heart speeding up even further at the sight of the 300 parked out front of his house when I round the corner. I've escaped _out_ of his bedroom window but never tried getting _in_ through it before, and so I pick up a few small bits of gravel from the edge of the road, head around the back of his house and throw the tiny stones at his window. I'm almost down to the last one when a warm glow lights up his room, signalling that he's awake, and so I throw the final few stones to make doubly sure he'll come to the window. He does of course, shirtless and confused and then grinning when he realises it's me. I lift up my fingers in a small wave, smiling my hello at him and failing to prevent my heart from stuttering when he looks at me like that.

He points downwards, gesturing for me to meet him at the door and so I go obediently, like a dog waiting for its master. It feels like that sometimes: like I'd do anything he told me, and I know it's because I love him. Because I can't _think_ without it involving him. Because I'm in so perilously deep that it feels like balancing on a cliff edge during a storm.

It's dangerous, this kind of love.

The door opens precisely so it makes no sound and seeing him up close like this - even though it's only been a couple days since we were together - does something I can't explain, stealing my breath and my words so that what I'm left with, inexplicably, are tears. They fall without apology and Jay draws me in against his chest, tilting his head so mine can fit in that delicious hollow between his neck and his shoulder where he smells like him. Like home too, I think, and then quickly rid the idea from my mind. Can't start thinking like that. Can't admit the extent of what this is, even though my body seems intent on giving the game away.

"You okay?" Jay asks softly, smoothing my hair in a gesture so comforting that I wonder whether he's practised it.

I shake my head, no, because I'm not. I just want him all of the time and it scares me. "Can we run away?" I manage in a choked whisper. "Tonight, just go and never come back?" I'm only half-joking.

He pulls back to catch my tears with his thumb, kissing me once he's satisfied. It's his own way of saying no, without explicitly voicing the one syllable he knows will confirm what I already know. "Come on, it's freezing out here."

I let him lead me silently upstairs and along the hallway to his room. He watches me remove my sweater and jeans and climb into his bed without so much as a word before he settles in beside me, holding out his arms so I can burrow safely into him.

"I missed you," I whisper, tracing the outline of his jaw.

"I missed you too."

"Hank took my phone," I tell him, allowing my fingers to come to a rest at the top of his spine, right beside his hairline. "I didn't know if you were okay."

"My dad took mine too," he says with a small smile which I know is forced. "Got a pretty good grounding."

"I'm sorry. Maybe the whole trip thing was a bad idea."

"Hey," Jay shifts slightly, taking a deep breath with his nose buried in my hair. "Don't be sorry. I'd take you again in a heartbeat."

"Promise?"

He grins and I can't help but smile too as he seals his lips over mine. "Promise."

That's enough talking, I think we decide together. We lie in his bed, warm skin pressed against warm skin, and force ourselves to stay awake so we can appreciate it. Eventually though, Jay clears his throat.

"My dad took away my car."

"So you'll have to take the bus?" It's not the end of the world, I figure: at least we could sit together.

He shakes his head though. "He's going to drop me. Says he wants to keep an eye out."

"For what?"

"Us," he answers after a moment. "Together."

There's a pain in my chest and I don't know if it's overwhelming guilt or overwhelming fury or overwhelming devastation. Probably all three.

"We've still got bio," he reasons. "And history and math."

"And lunch," I agree. "Need to make the most of that. Screw the crappy meatloaf."

He chuckles but it dies in his throat when I lean in to kiss him, managing somehow to feel hot and cold all at once. Kissing Jay is like having the best kind of fever.

I lose myself in his lips and his hands, savouring the delicious burn when he scorches my skin. He brings me back, shushing me gently when he moves to suck on my collarbone and a gasp squeaks past my lips. There's a grin from him though when I bite my lip as he nips my earlobe, breath deep and hot and branding me during his 'I love you, Erin'. I've never wanted to be anyone's like I want to be _his_.

Things are about to escalate when there's a creak - almost inaudible, but Jay catches it with those razor-sharp senses of his - from down the hall. The lamp is off and he adjusts us so he's all but smothering me, but it's just as well when his door creeps open and the light from the hallway filters into the dark.

"Dad?" he questions, faux-sleepily, and I have to give props to his acting skills.

His dad says nothing, just glances around and then closes the door, leaving us in darkened silence. It's a reminder we can't be careless. A reminder _I_ can't be careless, because being this selfish will only make it worse for him.

"Sorry," he whispers, peeling himself off of me, but it's not like having him so close is the worst thing in the world.

"I should go," I say, stealing one more kiss from his lips. "I just...I needed to see you."

"Monday," he whispers, helping to pass the sweater and jeans currently abandoned just out of view of the doorway. "It's not long."

It's still _too_ long though. It's too far away.

I leave via the window after one final kiss that pulls my toes upwards and simultaneously melts my insides and blazes a fire through my veins, and make it back to Hank and Camille's without incident.

X

I've never looked forward to school so much in my life. Each day, Jay waits for me by his locker with searching eyes and a grin that could melt the polar ice caps if he wanted it to. We walk to class together, his arm slung over my shoulders so I'm drawn against him and our hips knock every time we take a step, and he kisses me by the door, slow and long enough that the other students in their class make jokes about it, Ruzek even threatening to hide him away so he can practise his passing undistracted.

One day, a few weeks after Spring Break, his grin is even bigger than usual.

"Morning," I smile, reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss him.

"Good morning." I love it when he sounds like that: all sleepy and appreciative. "Guess what?"

"What?"

He holds up a set of keys and I think my heart might be about to burst with excitement. "I got my car back."

I snatch the dangling metal from his grasp and examine it in my hand. "Meet you in the parking lot at lunch?"

He seals his hand over mine. "Oh, definitely."

We walk the corridor until I'm outside of geography and he has to kiss me goodbye, after which my throat aches with the unspoken _I love you_. Save it, I figure, for when it counts.

Lunchtime doesn't come quickly enough but once that bell signals the end of fourth period, I hotfoot it out of the main doors and towards the parking lot where Jay is already waiting, grinning at me like it's Christmas. I don't care who's watching; I fling myself at him so that he thumps back a little against the car with a huff of surprise, but his hands are in my hair and his lips are on mine and I really _really_ don't care about anything else.

We drive a little way down the block, take a left and then a right until we're on a street framed with blossom trees that's quiet enough that we won't be interrupted. We both knew where this was headed without consultation, and I clamber into the backseat, pulling my sweater over my head and undoing the button on my jeans to save time. There's no room for taking it slow today.

Jay does the same, removing his shirt and leaving his jeans on, shimmying them down just enough so that he can free everything above his knees. He peels mine downwards so they're round my ankles, taking my underwear with him and there's absolutely no need for foreplay: I'm pretty sure just the thought of this is enough to get me going. He kisses his way down my neck though - drawing goosebumps across my skin as he heads downwards, over my breasts and towards my core. He leaves a single kiss against my folds, pulls out a condom from somewhere so he can sheath himself, and then buries his dick inside of me so I'm so full I can barely swallow.

His pace at first is slow and measured but quickly speeds up so that his gasps match mine and I'm clinging to the seatbelt for leverage. His hands start palming at my stomach and then my breasts, and an involuntary hiss escapes my lips when he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The sound is enough to still him and he snatches his hand away.

"Did I hurt you?"

I roll my hips for friction and urge him on. "My boobs are sore. Need to get my period, that's all," I manage as he shifts inside of me and hits a spot that elicits another rush of wetness.

He replaces his thumb and finger with his lips, leaving butterfly kisses so soft and delicate that my stomach is fluttering too. Instead of the blinding orgasm this might have led to, Jay tips me over the edge with a kiss behind my ear so that one long wave rises upwards from my centre all the way to the tips of my fingers and the top of my crown. It's so gentle and yet the power of it brings his own orgasm too; a deep breath pulled from his lungs that sounds remarkably like I love you.

We drive back to school in silence with our fingers sewn together. Leaving the car - and him - at the start of fifth period is torture.

X

I don't know what it is that jolts me awake in the middle of the night a few days later. Maybe it's a noise outside or a sliver of moonlight peeking through the drapes, but either way, a realisation that I'm late hits me smack in the face. I'm never late. Or, at least, I never have been before. There's a lot of things I haven't had and haven't _been_ before Jay though, and I'm just praying that the sore boobs and the sick feeling are a coincidence.

I don't sleep for the rest of the night.

Hank has eased up on the grounding enough that at the weekend, I'm free to hang out with friends as long as I'm back by curfew. I think this new freedom has something to do with Camille, although I don't ask, just accept it and head out of the house.

I steal the test from Walgreens and take it in the bathroom at Burger King so I can throw it in the trash and be done with the whole stupid idea while I wait for my body to do its fucking job. I nearly throw up when I see the two blue lines appear on the stick.

Nobody needs to read the instructions to know what that means.

Before I can even mentally debate how the fuck this has happened, my mind decides it's the right time to play a slideshow of all of the times Jay and I have had unprotected sex. Stupid, probably, but the only thing I was thinking about with him was that he was never going to give me an infection. Somehow, I think, this might be worse.

I try to calculate how far along I might be to try and pin down when the fuck this actually happened, but then I decide it's pointless because it doesn't matter when or where: fact is, it's happened and somehow I have to figure out what I'm going to do. The test goes into the trash and I exit the bathroom quickly, head down.

Somehow, I end up at Jay's without realising where I'm headed and when the door opens, it's his dad who's standing at the other side.

"Erin," he says without any evidence of emotion.

"Hey, um, is Jay in?" I ask, shuffling my feet on the spot.

"He is, but he's busy studying. Making up for lost time." His words are dripping with blame and I wonder whether it's a punishment or a necessity. Has he failed a test I didn't know about?

"Right," I answer because this is awkward as hell but I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, if I keep him talking long enough, Jay might come to the door. Might somehow save me from this uncomfortable situation. But then,

"You're living with the Voights now," his dad announces, like it's a fact I don't know myself. "You don't need Jay to save you. Let him focus on what _he_ needs for a change."

My eyes burn with tears. "I don't...that's not…" I take a breath and try again. "I lo-"

"You don't," he cuts in. "You think you do. You don't."

But I do, I reason in my own head. I _do_ love him.

"Go home Erin," he says as his parting words before sighing and closing the door.

X

Camille catches me on my return, saying something about a barbeque seeing as the weather's so pleasant and Justin's bringing his new girlfriend over, but I don't catch the rest of it; just tell her I'm not hungry as I head upstairs.

I'm alone for all of two minutes before I hear her knock at the door.

"Erin?" Jesus, just the _tone_ of her voice makes tears prick in my eyes. I turn my body away and towards the window, but I feel the bed dip as she sinks down onto the mattress beside me. "You wanna talk about it?"

I stay silent because no, I don't, but I think if I open my mouth to say as such, a sob might escape. She puts her arms around me like she's hell-bent on achieving that anyway, and so I stiffen myself against all of her softness and sweet vanilla-honey scent.

"Boys huh?" she says, and I purse my lips; clench my fingers so that's what I'm focusing on and not the lump in my throat or the hammering of my heart or the burn of my ears or the _thing_ that's inside of me.

"Sometimes," Camille says softly, "when you love someone, you can't be selfish. You love them enough that it doesn't matter what you want; what _they_ want is more important."

I want to ask her how she knows. _What_ she knows. I want to determine whether she's just incredibly perceptive after all of these years of living with the guy in charge of an intelligence unit, or whether she's some sort of fucking psychic mind-reader.

"Where is he?" she asks.

I still hold up my end of the silence bargain.

"Home?"

I nod just a fraction.

"You get to see him?"

This time, the smallest shake of my head.

"Did he know you were there?"

"I don't know," I say in a voice that can barely be described as a whisper. "He was studying."

"He sounds smart."

"He is."

"And he loves you Erin. Wouldn't look at you the way he does if he didn't."

I stiffen again and fight my trembling lip.

"His parents want what's best for him, that's all. They think he's going to achieve that through studying so _you_ need show your love by supporting that. Help him keep his focus."

She whispers the next bit. "Only be his distraction when he needs it - not when he wants it."

She presses a kiss to my temple and squeezes me just tight enough as she tells me she loves me that the pressure forces the choked sob out of my throat. Naturally, the tears follow because I know exactly what I have to do. Exactly what I can't tell him.

"I'd love if you helped me downstairs," Camille says softly. I nod, wipe my tears and let out a shaky breath as she smiles at me. She's almost out of the door when something - I'm not sure what; gratitude, maybe - makes me say her name.

"Yes?"

"Just…" I can't voice the _I love you_ to her either. The words die somewhere between my lungs and my lips but I think she gets it. There's the gentlest of smiles and a nod before I follow her downstairs.

We make the salad and dip the chicken strips in the marinade she's made and Hank returns from wherever he's been, tosses all the meat on the barbeque and even greets me with a "Thanks kid," when I hand him the open beer bottle Camille tells me to give him.

I nibble at some chicken and toy with my salad and potatoes but nobody says anything because Justin's new girlfriend Olive becomes the centre of attention. Camille catches my eye at one point, offers a smile and I try my best to reciprocate but I know it's a failed attempt.

Later, when I'm heading upstairs, I hear Hank's voice all low and grave from the kitchen.

"You going to tell her tonight?"

"She's got some stuff with Jay. I can't tell her now."

My heart sinks and I figure I might as well start packing so they can ship me back to Bunny or worse - a group home. But then,

"If you're starting treatment, don't you think she's going to notice? Ask questions?"

"I'll tell her hun." I already know Camille's hand will be on Hank's chest in that soothing rub she does. "Just let her get past whatever this is with Jay. I'll tell her then."

I don't stay to hear anything more; just flee upstairs and cry into my pillow.

* * *

 ***Boards flight to New York and hides behind the Madame Tussauds waxworks***


	15. Chapter 15

***I hope you are all safe - and all of your friends and family too - after the recent events in London, Manchester and now France***

 **A/N - Thank you thank you thank you for your lovely reviews. I'm sorry this has been so long in coming - I've been away and then really busy with work but I've been chipping away at this chapter to get it out for you. Thanks for trusting me with where this story is going - I don't think you'll be too disappointed in the end ;)**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

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Dangerous Love

I'm careful to ensure both my dad and Patsy are sound asleep before tiptoeing past their bedroom door - left ajar, I assume, in order to keep tabs on anything happening in the hallway. It's pretty pointless though when my dad sleeps as heavily as he does and I'm getting impressively good at the whole sneaking-out-to-Erin's thing.

She's waiting up when I get there, eyes rimmed with red and betraying her tiredness: it is 2am after all.

"You okay?" I ask, shifting across the mattress so she can press herself against me and my centre of gravity can right itself again. I get a muffled 'uh huh' accompanied by a faint nod but I'm almost certain it's not the truth. She's seemed more than a little _off_ lately, clingy and yet somehow distant, like she can't quite make up her mind whether she wants me all of the time or not at all. I hope to God it's not the latter.

"I miss the cabin," she whispers, tilting her head just enough that I get a peek at the lips that keep brushing against my chest - albeit over the fabric of my t-shirt.

"Me too," I say, dusting my own lips over her crown. She smells like birthday cake oreos and sunlight.

"Everything was better there."

"Hey," I frown, leaning back so I can get a better view of her. "What is it?"

Erin's eyes search mine for an indefinite amount of time until I feel a lump rise in my throat because whatever it is, I already know it isn't good. "You wanna be a Police Officer right? Eventually?"

"Since I was a kid," I say, allowing my fingers to link with hers.

"You'd have to join the military," she states, "Or have a minimum 60 semester hours in college."

"Yeah."

"You won't be here." Her voice is cracking. "In Chicago. You'll be somewhere dangerous like Iraq or Afghanistan. Or at college somewhere that isn't here."

"But I'll come back," I promise her, sealing my lips over hers. "I'll come back."

She only nods, like she's accepting my words but not really believing them. I tilt her chin up towards me, using the better angle to nuzzle my nose with hers; breathe her in; promise, silently, I'll be here as long as she wants me (and long after that too). It seems to be enough for now - this way of expressing how much I love her - and she sinks back against me so my fingers can reach for the hem of the tank top she's wearing in order to tug it upwards. I drop the material somewhere over the side of the bed - hidden from the doorway incase Hank or Camille or Justin decide to conduct an early morning search. When I go to kiss her breasts though, she pulls away slightly, arching her back and tugging my own t-shirt up so I'm forced to adjust my position to pull it off over my head. Even after she's discarded it, Erin still doesn't let me rest my lips there, focusing instead on the zipper of my jeans and her own shorts, both of which come off quickly before she zeroes in on my boxers. They too join the increasing pile on the carpet so that nothing but her sheet covers us and all I can smell is vanilla and arousal. I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that she wants me like this - same way as I want her.

She lets me roll us so she's lying on her back and I can kiss my way down her neck and along the sharp outline of her collarbone, her skin warm and soft beneath my lips; limbs becoming more and more pliable with each kiss. Her breaths become more snatched, stolen in the tiny gaps between kisses and my fingers entwining with hers, sloping down the curve of her side towards her hips.

All of the time, her eyes remain closed though - as if watching what I'm doing is too much in some way. There's an unsettling weight in the pit of my stomach because it's never been too much before and I have no idea what's changed but I'm starting to think we should've never come back from Wisconsin.

"Erin," I whisper, tracing her cheekbone with my thumb so it'll coax her eyes open. Her lids flutter gently, uncommitting to the dull moonlight, but eventually I'm met with her hazel irises . They're drowning in something, I can tell, but evidently she's not about to tell me what.

"Condoms are in the top drawer," is all she says before her eyes shut again. It takes a moment for my brain to figure out what my body should do, but when Erin's hips rise up I figure there's only one choice really.

I'm careful when I open the drawer so the wood doesn't make a scraping sound, the silence only broken when I sink inside of her, my arms holding her body against mine so that she'll at least feel what she does to me even if she won't watch, and I hear the heavy exhale she makes.

I hold off on the _I love you_ tonight. Something tells me she doesn't want to hear it.

By the time her breaths have evened out with sleep, the morning light is signalling the fact that I've stayed too long. It'll be a miracle if I make it back without being caught, but whatever punishment will come my way seems like a small price to pay when Erin's gripping my arm - even subconsciously - to keep me here with her. It shouldn't feel like the last time I'll be sneaking out of her room.

Somehow though, it does.

I see her at school the next morning by her locker, nursing a cardboard cup of coffee like it's the only thing giving her life. She smiles when she sees me - not that dimple-displaying one that I love, but a sort of sad one that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Hey," she says softly, taking hold of my open jacket as she kisses me hello and I'm not sure that feeling of her lips on mine will _ever_ stop catching me off guard. I hope it doesn't.

"Hey," I reply, stealing two more quick kisses so that sad smile does actually turn to a genuine one. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." That's a lie.

"Last night-"

"-I didn't mean to fall asleep," she interrupts, like _that's_ what I'm talking about. "I was just tired."

"You know I like watching you sleep anyway," I say truthfully. "One of my favourite things to do. Other than…" I trail off. "Well, you know."

Erin grins and I steal yet another kiss. "Me too."

"So I've got a game on Friday night," I tell her. "Would be great if you were there. Ruzek's having a party afterwards."

She looks unsure and I have no idea whether it's because she doesn't want to come or because she's confused as to why I would _want_ her to come. "I uh...I don't know if I can...if Hank'll let me."

My heart sinks more than it should. "Okay."

"Hey," she strokes her fingertips down my arm so I'm tingling all over my left side. "I wanna be there. I'll try."

She lets me link our fingers and walk her to her first class but all of it seems like it's taking up so much effort. I miss whatever it is we're supposed to be learning in the rest of my classes because all I can think of is her.

X

The week passes neither slowly nor quickly. It just stumbles by blindly, the days slipping into each other without any 2am sneaking into Erin's room to break up the time until Friday comes. We see each other in the hallway, take up our spot behind the back of the art department at lunch so we can spend the time seeking out each other's lips, catch gazes across our shared classes but it all feels _off_.

We don't talk about the game: if she comes, she comes. If not, I'll tell her about it afterwards. It's just that there's fantasy playing in my head where I make the pass of the game, we win and I look into the crowd to see Erin cheering, wearing my jacket. It's probably stupid - and I've never even really been that interested in football until now - but it's there all the same.

I walk onto that field just before 7pm, and rather than taking in the atmosphere, I scan the crowd looking for Erin. She hasn't answered any of my texts and the call I made went straight to voicemail, but I can't ever predict anything she does anyway and I'm just hoping that she's blending in with everyone else. In the back of my mind, I know that's impossible: she's _never_ blended in.

Still, the cheerleaders begin their routine, the mascot starts working the crowd and the game is happening regardless of whatever's going on with Erin and me. By the end of the second quarter, we're down by nine points and coach Tutuola looks like he's about to burst a series of blood vessels if the colour of his face is any indication.

"Halstead," he all but barks. "Time to run that trick play we've been practising. Can you get your head out of your ass long enough to do that?"

I dip my chin. "Yes coach."

"Okay then. Severide, you take the ball and pass out to Ruzek. Attwater, you block the hell out of everyone so Halstead can make the run down the left. Release that ball to him so we can start wrapping this up. Got it?"

We all answer with a _yes sir_ , and his shade of red lessens slightly. "Good. Now get back out there and score some points."

We do as he says. Severide passes to Ruzek who begins his run down the right. I start mine down the left and Attwater holds off the opposition as long as possible until the ball comes flying across the field towards me. Somehow, I manage to catch it and make it to the end zone without being tackled. We score the points. _I_ score us the points. And I realise the fantasy that's been in my head all week is playing out. I look into the crowd, searching the faces for Erin's.

I don't find her.

The rest of the game plays out exactly how coach had envisaged and we win by three points. The locker room is charged with excitement afterwards; banter regarding which girls the guys are going to try and hook up with at Ruzek's party later; dissection of how tight our passing was.

"Dude, that run was insane," Severide laughs, clapping me on the back. "You should be on the track team."

I laugh and head towards the steam of the showers. It's easy to get caught up in this atmosphere I realise: the whole jock thing comes with a comradery I haven't experienced before and I have to admit, it feels good.

"So you need a ride to the party?" Ruzek asks, joining me. "You can drop your car off if you want?"

"Sounds good," I tell him, figuring that maybe Erin might be there. It'd be easier to sneak out later in the evening if she's been grounded. "Thanks."

"No problem. I wanna get your advice on something anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he scans the showers and then obviously thinks better of telling me until we're in the car.

Needless to say, Erin isn't waiting for me at my place when I drop off the 300. I leave the keys on the counter in the kitchen, tell Patsy not to wait up but that I'll be home before 1, and then head back out to Ruzek's car with her soft 'have fun', floating across the room.

"So?" I ask him, clipping the seatbelt across my chest. I've seen Ruzek's driving and it isn't pretty. "What's up?"

"How'd you make Erin your girlfriend?"

I almost laugh. "Why are you asking me that?"

"'Cause I want Kim to be mine but I can't figure out how to ask her."

"You're hooking up right?"

"The odd time," he says, running a hand over the scruff that he hasn't shaved off of his face. "But uh...not exclusively."

"Dude, you've just gotta ask her."

"And say what? Kim, will you be my girlfriend?"

"Or you could ask her on a date. Girls like that romantic stuff."

"Where'd you take Erin?"

"Uh…" I _could_ tell him about the movie and the subsequent _attention_ she gave me during it. It's not fair to Erin though. "Tourist day around the city. We walked through Millennium Park, went up the Skydeck, got burritos."

"You make out?"

"After that date? No."

"But after another date?"

"Yeah." I can't fight the grin. I think Ruzek must notice because he offers his fist in a bump that almost makes him swerve into an oncoming car, and I decide I'm telling him nothing more. "Just ask her on a date and don't be a dick."

He scoffs. "I'm never a dick."

"She coming tonight?"

"I hope so."

"Then before you get wasted, ask her on a date next weekend."

"How about we double up? You can bring Erin and if it gets awkward, you guys can save me and make me look awesome."

I grit out a chuckle but agreeing means fighting the increasing worry that something is wrong with my girl. I do it anyway and hope Ruzek's too focused on his own girl problems to have noticed mine.

X

By the time we arrive at the party, it looks like one of those scenes from every teen movie with a house party: people spilling out into the yard; red cups littering the ground; loud music pumping with a base so heavy I can actually feel it in my veins.

"If you're here," I ask, "who's hosting?"

Ruzek shrugs. "Jess? Maybe Chrissy. But I'm sure Severide's got a handle on it. Doesn't like to miss too much party time when the cheerleaders are around."

We park up and head towards the front porch where I'm almost swarmed by girls I had no idea knew my name, let alone wanted to talk to me. Someone hands me a beer and I drink it gratefully, trying to be polite in my fight through the house in search of Erin. I sent her a text on our way over to remind her this is where I'd be in the hours after the game. By now, I'm already not expecting her to show but I still look for her anyway.

My scouring of the house proves fruitless and as I assumed, she's not here. I try and forget that fact with several more beers until everything feels warm and fuzzy and I can't picture her face clearly enough to wallow in the feeling that somewhere, things between us took a nosedive and I have no idea when or where or why that was.

By the time I make it back to the living room, someone has moved the furniture so there's a makeshift dancefloor where the coffee table and couches used to be and I'm grabbed by a girl I know only to be a cheerleader. Her name is a mystery, but not one that I'm intent on solving, and I find myself swaying to a distorted version of California Love - which doesn't seem very apt. It's uncomfortable, having someone who isn't Erin this close, but I'm pretty sure the only thing I'm being used for right now is to keep her upright. When the song ends, I manage to guide her to the newly-positioned couch and look up to see my girl staring back at me.

"Erin," I stutter, my heart setting off like a jackhammer despite the fact that I've done absolutely nothing wrong. I still feel guilty somehow.

Strangely enough, she doesn't look pissed. Just tired. "Hey."

I manage to manoeuvre myself around the couch so I can pull her into me. I don't hear her reply, but the low rasp of her voice somehow vibrates through the fabric of my shirt to tell me she's offered a 'hey' in exchange.

"I've missed you," I tell her. I think we both know I don't just mean tonight.

She pulls back, takes her bottom lip between her teeth and peeks up towards me through hooded lids. "Can we talk?"

"Outside?" I suggest, hoping she's going to shake her head and tell me we should talk _upstairs_ in that faux-innocent whisper thing she's perfected. All I get is a nod and my heart sinks.

Erin weaves us through the throngs of people on the front lawn until we're onto the street and seeking refuge from the sound of something undistinctive blasting out of Ruzek's parents' speakers. They're almost definitely going to be shot to hell by tomorrow.

"Hey," she says for the second time tonight. This time though, she doesn't meet my eyes.

"You okay?" I ask, the two words feeling like they're on a never-ending cycle lately.

"No."

It's the first time she's been honest.

I reach to entwine my fingers with hers but she snatches her hand away like I've burned her, cradling it against her chest under the cuffs of her sweater.

"Erin, what is it?" my words come out more wobbly than I'd thought they'd be. Christ, my palms are sweating. "You can tell me."

"I just...I...You deserve to be happy, Jay."

"I _am_ happy," I stress. "I'm happy with you. All the time."

She shakes her head like it's a lie. "I uh…" she's struggling to say whatever it is she's been rehearsing. I'm pretty sure my heart is beating so fast it's about to take off inside of my chest. "I don't want to ruin that. Ruin you."

"Erin," I step forward again and this time she takes a step back, maintaining her distance. Hell, _increasing_ her distance. I know where she's trying to go with this and I can't let her. Whatever it is, whatever she's done, it's okay. "You'd never…"

Her nod ends my sentence. "I'd ruin you…. by…. by being selfish; I won't let myself be selfish with you. I...you mean too much for that." I'm sure there's an unspoken _I love you_ in there somewhere.

"I love you," I tell her. They're the only words I have left. And she doesn't want to believe the sincerity of them. The _gravity_ of them.

"You'll love someone else. Someone better."

I shake my head. "No. No, I won't." Her eyes are heavy with unshed tears. "Something's happened. You wouldn't be saying this if it hadn't."

"No."

"Yes," I state. "Yes, and whatever it is, if you've done something, it's okay."

Her nostrils quiver in a desperate fight to stop the tears from falling. Her hand reaches out then, almost of its own accord like it's looking for something to rest on and so I step forward, capture it between my own palms and bring it to my chest, right above my heart. Her fingertips move tentatively in a stroking motion and I think she's almost convinced. Convinced enough not to go through what she came here to do. But then:

"You're making this hard," she whispers, the soft syllables of the words igniting a blaze of anger inside my chest because _I'm_ not the one making this hard. It's so fucking easy: her and me together, and yet she seems intent on wrecking that. On wrecking us.

"Don't do this," I all but plead. "We can sort it out - whatever it is."

"We can't." Erin shakes her head. "It's done." She tugs her hand out from my grasp and instantly I feel cold.

"So what?" I ask, "that's it?"

Her voice is so quiet that I almost don't hear the word I'm dreading. But I do. "Yeah."

She presses her lips to my jaw - just below my ear and I close my eyes, inhaling her scent. But that's it. She's doesn't change her mind. Doesn't say anything more. Just turns and walks away, arms folded over her chest and I swear I hear her suck in a shaky breath.

I spend the rest of the evening drinking as much as I can to block her out of my mind (a failure, as it always is) and somehow make it home with wet eyes and unsteady feet.

X

Time passes. Weeks, maybe even a month. I see Erin at school but it's only on the days we don't share a class together. I complete any bio project work with Artie Morello who, it seems, has never had a lab partner in his life.

The only words we share now are cursory 'hey's in passing, but she never looks at me and she never returns my texts or calls either.

Things remain this way until one day, she stops attending school altogether. I call and text - I'm worried about her grades and her future here: I know how much effort Hank must've gone to to get her back in after her issues before we got together - but other than the 'I'm sick' I get in response once, Erin doesn't answer. On the last day of school before the weekend, I make up my mind to call round at Hank and Camille's because she can't possibly be telling the truth, except on the way to my locker, I see her pseudo-father himself heading towards the principal's office.

"Halstead," he practically barks, eyeing me like I've done something wrong. He crosses the hallway and the menacing look on his face has me pretty much shitting myself. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

He leans in even closer so I can see just how red he is; can practically feel the anger vibrating off of him. "Don't screw with me kid. Where's Erin?"

At that, my panic rating ramps up because I assumed she was with him. "I...I haven't seen her," I manage. "Honestly, I was going to come over tonight 'cos she hasn't been answering my texts."

Hank's eyes narrow further until I'm not entirely certain he can see at all.

"Seriously Hank...er, sir. She hasn't been here for a couple weeks."

"Shit!" he curses, rubbing a hand harshly across the back of his neck before pulling out his phone. I'm not sure whose number he's dialling but it becomes clear when he instructs Justin to "keep an eye on your mom. I think I know where she is."

I wait for Hank to elaborate but when he just turns on his heel to head back towards the parking lot, I have to ask him myself.

"She at Bunny's? Charlie's?"

"Probably."

"You going over there?" I ask. "Can I come?"

"No."

"She...did something happen?" I ask. "Something that-"

"-Camille's sick." his voice is rough with emotion. "Cancer."

"But she'll fight it, right?" I ask. "Get better again?"

Hank's face is grave and I already know the answer. "Not this time."

He stalks off before I can say or do anything - which might not be entirely bad because I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. What I'd be _able_ to say.

Later when I'm alone in my room, failing at studying for my upcoming calculus test, my phone vibrates with a call from a number I don't recognise. Almost before I've finished sliding my finger to the green circle, I hear Hank's voice on the other end of the line. I have no idea how he even has my number - and I probably don't want to know - but I listen anyway.

"I need you to find her."

"I don't-"

"-There isn't much time. Bring her to Chicago Med."

I haven't finished my 'okay' before he cuts the call.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N - Thank you for your lovely reviews. I'm away with work this week so I've tried to finish this as quickly as I could. Sorry if I've missed any typos in my lightning-fast proof read.**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

* * *

Dangerous Love

I hear Bunny's laugh from her bedroom and tip the bottle's contents past my lips so the clear liquid burns my throat and makes my eyes sting. Still, I'm not numb enough.

The vodka does nothing to combat that emptiness in the pit of my stomach where Jay's baby should be, nor does it stop the images of Camille's frail body with its greying skin and stolen health from flooding my brain until that - and the effects of the mifepristone and misoprostal on my sheets - are the only things I can see. Funny, I guess, how two tiny tables can destroy a life. And save Jay's future too.

It should've been a relief, I know I'm supposed to think, getting rid of the baby (you know, like you _get rid_ of trash; throw it out; make it go away) and yet the only positive there is is that Jay won't hate me for stealing his future. There was a time I didn't know whether I loved him or not: guess this is enough to prove I do; enough of a sacrifice so he can have his dream and, if I'm lucky, I get to watch him enjoy it.

I rise from the floor - unsteady, but probably due to not eating rather than the alcohol, I figure - and head out to the bathroom. Bunny isn't in good enough graces with her dealer to score us some free pills but there's always something lying around in the cabinet above the sink.

I hit the jackpot with a half-used bottle of Zolpidem, but there are enough pills to do the job. To shut it all out. I cram them into my mouth from my palm, spilling a couple into the sink and rescuing them quickly before the water droplets attack and release that bitterness you get if you don't swallow fast enough.

I don't know how long they take to kick in, but I know they're not quick enough because after a while, my ears pick up an incessant thudding - way off in the distance it seems, but persistent and Bunny isn't doing a damn thing about it. The apartment door, I surmise, and catch myself in the mirror as I turn to get it. All I see is red.

The walls lurch and fade simultaneously as my legs stumble towards the door, my hands searching for an anchor which I find, finally, upon making it to the handle. It takes several tries - an attempt too, at a _fuck you_ , which seems to blend together accidentally - but I eventually manage to yank the door open. The source of that noise is none other than Jay Halstead, looming over me as I instruct my eyes not to look at his.

I fail. They fail. We all fail, I guess.

"Erin," he whispers - I think - catching me as though I'm about to fall, which I don't think I was. His face is hard to read - mainly because it's blurred - but I can make out the blue of his irises and the softness of his lips. Would know them anywhere.

His scent crashes over me like a tsunami: stealing my breath and seeping into my lungs like the best kind of chloroform. A better drug than the Zolpidem at least. I'm vaguely aware of my hair being moved so his lips are against my ear, but his words don't register. My knees are buckling and I'm colliding with his chest.

We move (or, more accurately, _Jay_ moves us) so that we're in my bedroom and the noises from the livingroom seem even further away than they did earlier. By the time he lays me down on my bed, I don't even see his lips moving, and thankfully, the blackness surrounds me before I can ask him why he's here.

X

I wake to a pounding headache, my eyes shutting quickly in order to block out the light. I'm comfortable - except for the pain in my head - wherever I am, and all I can determine with my eyes still closed is that I'm not in Bunny's apartment. There's a rustling sound, I realise, somewhere in the room and I will it to stop, but then I hear my name.

"Can you hear me?"

Jay. I'd know that voice anywhere.

Rather than the yes I know he wants, I try to tell him to cut it out but my words are blurred together so it's just one long string of indistinguishable sound that leaves my lips. I feel his hand on my forehead then, stroking my skin with his fingertips in a move so calming it would probably bring about world peace if he wanted it to. I want him to keep doing that so I can drift back off before this state of semi-consciousness is tainted with red and grey, but his fingers stop, slipping down my arms until they stop at my wrists.

Too late, I realise. He's too late to steal away the images before they surface.

I want to ask him what he's doing but I can't find the words. Instead, I lie there until his hands go to my hair, combing through the tangles gently.

"Baby, I need you to open your eyes," he says.

 _Need_ , I register. He _needs_ me to do this, and so I open my eyes again, blinking in the light which is now less harsh than it was earlier. "I closed the drapes," he tells me as if he can read my mind. "Can you sit up?"

Only now do I realise that I'm in my room at Hank and Camille's house, and I stare dumbly, my eyes raking over the freckles on his skin; the concerned expression he's wearing; the five o'clock shadow that's formed along his jawline. He goes to stroke my hair away from my face and I turn my head in shame.

"Hey," he turns it back anyway, my chin sitting between his thumb and forefinger. "Don't."

I love him so much my whole body hurts sometimes, like the weight of what I feel for him might crush me one day soon. And then that pain stabs at my chest when he dusts his lips over mine lightly, inhaling with the softest of hums as though I smell the exact opposite of how I feel.

Jay's lips are a trap door I'm desperate to fall down, but I can't move my own well enough to climb inside fully. I hover around the edge instead, stuck without a way to proceed until he pulls back anyway, ghosts my temple, my forehead, that spot behind my ear until everything is hazy again and he must realise his mistake.

"No, no...you can't…" he gives my shoulder a shake so I'm jolted back into coherence. "Erin, I need you to stay awake."

I nod, I think, even though it's his fault for kissing me. I comply as best I can, pushing with my arms so I can slide further up the bed, except they're weak and unsteady and in the end, Jay scoops me up with a single one of his arms so I'm propped against the pillows.

"Is this what you took?" he asks, holding up the bottle of Zolpidem.

"Yeah," I manage weakly.

"You know how many?"

I shrug and then feel guilty for being nonchalant when he looks like he just doesn't know what to do. "Five maybe. Six?" It was probably a couple more than that and we both know it. "I'm sorry."

"So what, you just wanted to sleep?"

"Without -" I catch myself quickly. "Without seeing…"

"The grey skin?" he says softly, catching a tear I hadn't realised was falling. "Seeing the life stolen from someone right in front of your eyes."

How does he _always_ know? "Yeah."

"I watched it do that to my mom." It. _Cancer_. "But Erin, Hank called."

I'm barely registering his words though because I'm on that cliff between telling him about the abortion or keeping my mouth clamped shut, and I'm so far off the edge that pulling myself back would probably be harder than diving in headfirst with 'I was pregnant with your child but now I'm not'. But then I look at him: _really_ look at him. And he deserves to think of himself for once and my mouth stays closed.

"Erin, did you hear me?" he asks. "Hank called."

"Okay."

"We need to get to the hospital. Camille's...she's…" he huffs out his frustration and takes my hand in his. "She hasn't got very long."

I take my hand away and he looks hurt. "I can't go there Jay."

He doesn't ask why: maybe he understands. "Camille asked for you."

"What?"

"She wants to see you and with the pills...you've been asleep a while."

"W-what day is it?"

"Saturday," he confirms. "Afternoon."

My stomach lurches and Jay seems to understand what's about to happen because he somehow pulls me out of bed and over to the open window so I don't make a mess on the floor. He holds my hair back at the same time as holding my waist against him so I don't fall and all I can think is I don't deserve him.

I cough up the contents of my stomach - which thankfully, turns out to be very little other than last night's vodka and sleeping pills - with my eyes watering and my hands reaching blindly for something - Jay, probably. I sink against him once I'm done because it's taking everything I have to remain awake at the moment let alone fight his proximity.

"You done?" he asks calmly, breathing into my hair. I nod with a mumbled 'uh huh' and he helps me back to the bed. "Please let me take you to the hospital Erin. Don't miss your time with her."

He's talking like he knows this is it - like he's so sure Camille's not going to come back home and it stirs something inside of me: an anger I didn't realise was present. I bite my tongue though because he doesn't deserve to get the brunt of this mess.

"I need to shower," is what I manage instead, and so he walks me to the bathroom, my anger still bubbling under the surface.

"You good?" Jay questions after turning on the water so the spray is hitting the tiles and creating a haze of steam.

"Yeah."

Except I'm not. I wait for him to leave, not asking explicitly, but making a pointed look towards the door. He sighs and turns to leave but turns around again just as I stumble into the shower screen as I'm trying in vain to remove my shirt. As always, he catches me before I go headfirst into the wall, those reactions of his working overtime, and I just about manage to steal myself enough that I'm at least in control of my words.

Jay lifts the offending shirt, tugging it up and over my head gently so that my chest and stomach are bare before him. I hold my head up defiantly, looking over him as he holds my waist in one arm while using his opposite hand to undo the button on my jeans. He strips me of those too - and my underwear - until I'm naked in front of him.

"Can you stand?"

I nod and he removes his own clothes as quick as lightning so he's just as naked as I am. After that, he guides me into the shower, letting the wall do most of the work as he lets go only to grab the shampoo. He squeezes a small amount onto his palm, works it with his other hand until it forms a lather and then proceeds to massage it into my scalp. I rest against his chest with my eyes closed, but open them quickly again when all I get is the image of blood all over my sheets. Instead, I focus on the feel of Jay's hands on me - strong and yet unbelievably gentle all at once. Once he's worked the shampoo into my hair, he turns so he can tilt my head towards the water without getting it in my eyes.

After it's all rinsed out, he starts work on my skin, squeezing some bodywash onto his hands so he can massage it across my shoulders and neck, then down my back and to my ass. Next, he grabs the washcloth so he can repeat the motion, but between my legs, so I'm clean everywhere. It's so much more intimate than we've ever been before, despite those few days in Wisconsin and all of the other times we've spent in each other's beds. He turns me carefully so he can guide the washcloth over my breasts and down to my stomach. He pauses there to press a kiss to my forehead and I feel tears prick and sting my eyes because this could be so, _so_ different: another time; a place that isn't here; a fantasy.

"Promise me you only took those pills to help you sleep," Jay whispers, almost inaudible above the spray of the shower.

I pull back slightly so I can look up at him. It still catches me off guard when he looks at me like that - like _he'd_ die if I did. "Promise," I manage to grit out past the lump in my throat. "I just...I need to close my eyes without seeing it all."

He nods and kisses my lips.

I don't know what this is anymore: what _we_ are or what we're doing because we're way past the point of friends - always were I think - and it's just so easy to fall into the place I want to be: safe with him - a shield for all of the bad things in the world.

He steps out of the shower first and then proceeds to wrap one of the fluffy towels around me so I'm not cold before he covers himself. After tucking his own towel around his waist so it's secure, Jay rubs his hands up and down my arms so the cotton catches the water droplets and I stay warm.

We don't say anything more - not while he dries off and we redress, nor when he watches me try to pull a brush through my hair before giving up and shoving it into a ponytail. The only word he utters once I'm done and he seems to be satisfied that I can be left alone for a few minutes is 'coffee' and he busies himself downstairs in the kitchen while I stare at the wall in front of me.

He brings me a steaming mug of black liquid and instructs me to drink and like a dog obeying its master, I do.

"It's good," I tell him, sipping gratefully, and he smiles genuinely at me. It's little actions like this that remind me I've made the right choice - that he can be happy because I'm enjoying the taste of the coffee he's made me. I notice him stifle a yawn as he brings his own mug to his lips and then suddenly realise that although I've slept, Jay might not have.

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

It takes him a good few seconds to answer, like he's debating whether or not to tell me the truth. In the end, that must win out because he takes another sip of coffee and then sets his mug down.

"Since I brought you from your mom's place."

"When was that?"

"Last night."

"Have you slept?"

"I was watching you," he says, in place of the 'no' which is the truth.

I have no idea what to say to that so I take another sip of the coffee he's made me and try not to cry.

X

The hospital looks and smells like depression. The lights and walls are way too bright and the floors are too shiny. The only reason my feet are making their way along the corridor is Jay: him holding my hand; reminding me (without consciously reminding me) that he's done this too - walked a corridor just like this one in a hospital not dissimilar - and now he's reliving it just so he can be here with me.

If it's even possible, my body aches even more with the love I have for him.

We finally reach Camille's room and my throat swells closed so swallowing becomes impossible.

"Hey," Jay whispers, stroking his fingertips along the sides of my neck so that knot loosens. He can read my body like it's a manuscript. "You can do this. I'll be waiting out here."

"No," I say. "You should go home; get some sleep."

He nods and tells me he loves me and I head inside of Camille's room before I lose the confidence he's given me.

"Erin," she manages with - somehow - a smile, and I feel my resolve crumble immediately. Hank turns from his position in the chair beside her bed and I'm ready for the argument but it never comes. Instead, he echoes Camille's greeting and gets up to kiss me on the forehead. It's so different to the way Jay does it but no less comforting.

"I'm sorry I -"

"-Doesn't matter," Camille says, reaching for my hand. But it does matter. We all know it. "Hun, will you give us a minute?" She asks Hank, then turns her head to Justin. "You too."

They rise without question, Hank mumbling something about coffee and Justin commenting that he needs 'something way stronger' before leaving us to it. I hover by the bed, taking in the drip and the iv, the jug of water and the empty glass without the lipstick stain I'd become so accustomed to seeing until only a few weeks ago.

"Sit down Erin," she says, so obviously wracked with pain that I do it immediately lest she have to repeat herself.

"I'm sorry," I try again, but she hushes me with her cold fingertips on my hand.

"Jay get you?" is all she asks. I nod. "Don't push him away hun. You're going to need him."

"I-"

"-And that doesn't make you selfish," she adds before I can protest. "Choices can, but needing him won't."

The tears I've held back for so long fall without abandon at that - at knowing I could've told her about the baby if she hadn't been ill; seeking advice; having her hold my hand while I cried in the bathroom at the foetus-shaped blob in the toilet.

"Now come on," she says, strong as ever: a contradiction of her illness.

"I don't want you to go," I tell her honestly. It's probably the most honest I've been around her and it's too late.

"I don't want to go either hun. But I guess my time's up."

She says it like it's nothing but I can see how much effort each word is taking. "It's not fair."

Camille shrugs. "I got my dream: married Hank and watched him achieve his dream. Had Justin. Got you."

And I must be the biggest fucking disappointment ever.

"So it's okay," she says. "If I go tonight or tomorrow; it's okay."

It isn't. Not for me. Not for Hank or Justin. Not for _anyone_. "But-"

"-I wrote you a letter. It's in the top drawer in that long set in our bedroom. I want you to read it when I'm not here anymore."

I nod dumbly and she grips my hand tighter.

"Promise me you'll read it Erin."

I nod again. "I promise."

A knock sounds at the door and I turn to see Hank. "Can we come in?"

Camille just smiles somehow, nodding at him with this expression like he's the only person in her world at that moment. I already know where I've seen that expression before.

We sit quietly, all together in that little room with the lights dimmed to a warm glow as opposed to the harsh brightness of the corridor just outside. Hank's hand is in Camille's and it's all so peaceful and calm as he presses kisses against it every so often in a display of affection so pure that I almost can't look. And then her eyes slip closed.

They don't open again.

It's the quietest, more gentle exit of the world that I've ever seen - just like Camille herself - but the rage inside of my chest as the nurses eventually move us, _suggest_ (like we have a fucking choice) that we go home - is a stark contrast.

I don't register my feet carrying me out of that room, but suddenly I find myself confronted by bright white walls and bright, shiny floors and - inevitably - Jay. I must be running because he stops the walls from speeding past me, taking me in his arms and holding me to him but I don't want to be held. I just want to run.

"Let go!" I shout. "Let go of me!"

"Erin, hey-"

"-Why are you here? You're always fucking _here_!" I'm practically screaming but he doesn't flinch; just steps even closer like the martyr he is.

He doesn't answer; just holds me as I beat my hands against his chest in tired slaps which grow weaker and weaker until my whole body sags and he's the only thing stopping me from crumbling onto the floor.

I don't know how long I stay there. Could be hours, could be days, but eventually Hank appears with bloodshot eyes that look like the light inside of them has been dimmed.

"Come on kid," he grits out. "Let's go."

X

We arrive back at Hank and Camille's (or just _Hank's_ , I guess) when it's dark outside. I have no idea what day we're on - and I don't care - but all I know is the quicker I leave, the less hard it'll be.

I head upstairs to start packing and I'm almost done when I remember the letter Camille told me about. I head to her bedroom and open the drawer, reaching underneath the socks where she said it would be, and sure enough, I find a folded piece of paper with her precise cursive handwriting.

I slip it into my pocket and head back where I find Hank standing over my open holdall.

"What's this?"

"I'm packing."

He chews on the side of his mouth for a moment before responding. "What for?"

"Going back to Bunny's. Leave you guys to it."

"Erin," he says in that exact tone that forms a lump in my throat. "Erin," he says again so I'll look at him.

"What?"

"You're not leaving. This is as much your home as it is ours."

"It's-"

"-It's final," he says. "Besides, you leave now and your boyfriend won't know where to find you.

 _He called Jay?_ "You called Jay?"

His face is serious. "Camille told me I had to. Said I had to stop being a dad about you having a boyfriend."

A _dad_. A sob escapes my mouth without warning and he pulls me to him, wrapping me in a hug I don't expect.

"Just don't go getting any ideas. I don't wanna walk in on him and you doing...anything."

Somehow, I manage a laugh through my tears and he drops a kiss to the top of my head. "This is your home," he repeats. "Long as you want it."

He leaves to head back downstairs and I change out of my clothes robotically and into a pair of pajamas, pulling my hair out of its ponytail when there's a soft knock against the door.

"Hey."

I turn at the sound of Jay's voice, practically running to him this time, so I can bury my head into the crook of his neck. He smoothes his hands down my back so they rest innocently just above the top of my ass. _Everything_ about him, it seems, is innocent.

"You're exhausted," he says, and yeah - I realise - I am. But he must be too. I leave his arms so I can close the door and that's when he notices the bag.

"Going somewhere?"

"No," I tell him, lifting it off of the bed and putting it inside of the closet. "Not anymore."

"Good," is all he says, and I stare at him and then the bed.

"Stay with me?"

"Of course."

I draw back the sheets that he must have straightened earlier and settle onto the mattress. Jay climbs in beside me, reaching across to flick the lamp off. At that, I remove my shirt and then reach for his.

"We shouldn't…" he whispers, catching my hand and kissing the underside of my wrist. And I know we shouldn't. But,

"I just want to feel you," I tell him. Warm skin against mine; safety in amongst all the danger; the calm in this torrential storm.

He stares at me for a moment, illuminated by the silver of the moonlight pouring through the open drapes, as he continues brushing my hair away from my face so delicately that his touch feels no more than a butterfly's flutter. His eyes are such an intense blue that I'm drowning in them, lost at sea without a map or a compass but it ceases to matter, somehow. And then he pulls his t-shirt up and over his head, dropping it onto the floor beside the bed before settling back down and pulling me against him.

It's home, this: lying in bed with him without clothes forming a barrier. And we don't need anything more right now, I realise, because he's got me. I hear the scrape of a chair down in the kitchen, then the bottles in the fridge rattle when the door opens and closes again: another beer for both Hank and Justin as they fight tiredness so they don't have to go to bed alone.

"You okay?" Jay asks as I burrow further into him so there isn't even a millimeter of air between us.

"No."

He kisses my hair and anchors his leg over mine so there isn't a single part of me not surrounded by him.

The words just slip out before I can catch them. "I love you."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N - Muchas gracias for your lovely, lovely reviews last chapter. This is the penultimate one, but I have got a new story in the pipeline to post once this one's done.**

 **Hope you enjoy this one x**

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Dangerous Love

I wake to the sun streaming through the drapes so bright that it hurts my eyes. The sirens are still and quiet for once, observant, it seems, of the peace that should be brought by days like today. It's starkly reminiscent of my mom's funeral day - when

everything seemed too vivid and sparkling to be a day in which death was the overwhelming theme: You can pretend you're celebrating someone's life all you want; in the end, the only reason you're in that church is because that life has been cut short.

I reach for my phone to call Erin because even though she's not lying next to me, she's still the first thing I think of when I wake. She answers with a whispered,

"I wish you were here," and it tugs at my chest because I wish I were there too, even if we're in relationship purgatory.

"I'll see you soon," I say, although almost wish I hadn't because the _soon_ implies the imminent funeral proceedings. "Erin?" I add, because I can picture her dipped head; those unshed tears pooling in her eyes so she can't see; the thoughts she'll have about the beer in the fridge or the harder liquor in the cabinet or the pills she'd be able to get from Bunny.

"Yeah?"

"Just don't..." I trail off, because how am I supposed to tell her not to do the only things I wanted to do when we were back in Bayfield?

She seems to get it though. Nods, even though I can't see her. "I won't."

"I love you."

There's hesitation on the other end of the line, a deep, shaking breath, but then: "I love you too."

And because I need her to be the last one to hear those words, I repeat them back to her, scrub my face with my hand as I hang up and then throw back the sheets so I can get ready. The quicker I'm by her side, the safer I know she is.

I shower hurriedly and throw on the suit I've only ever worn once and never want to wear again before I can think too much about it. Patsy's waiting in the kitchen to try and force toast into my stomach but is content enough that I'll take coffee to go.

"Jay," she says softly, just as I'm grabbing the keys to the 300.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?" We both know she doesn't just mean in general, and I'm grateful that she's asked without spelling it out. I don't hate Patsy - never have - but my feelings towards her soften just a little in that moment.

I nod with a small, grateful smile. "Yeah."

"Okay." She squeezes my shoulder and says nothing more. I head out to Erin's before I encounter my dad: I'm not sure what seeing this suit might do to him.

X

She's not ready when I get there, which isn't exactly a surprise. Justin answers the door smelling like scotch and I hope to God Erin hasn't been downstairs to witness it - or, worse, join in. Hank is staring out of the window and barely turns to acknowledge me as I step inside of the hallway, but I greet him with a "Sir," anyway so as not to be rude. I make to head upstairs when he stops me with a gruff,

"Halstead?"

I turn and head back towards him, unsure as to whether the glass in his hand has already seen some of its contents swallowed. I think, as I get closer, it probably has. "Yeah?"

"Whatever's going on with you and Erin, I don't care. Just...be there for her - even if she says she doesn't want you to be. Don't give up."

I nod and choke out an "Of course," before heading to her room. It seems to be that an invisible line between us was crossed when he asked for my help in finding my girl, and as much as no more needs to be discussed, I'm grateful for his acceptance. It means something, somehow.

I knock on her door and push it open lightly. She's sitting on her bed - undressed save for a camisole I'm pretty sure she slept in and a pair of dark panties.

"Hey."

She turns at my voice, face blank until she registers my presence in person, at which point she crumples before me. The bed dips as I sink down next to her, my shoulder an angular pillow for her head as her fingers clutch at my forearms - nails sinking tiny crescent-shapes grooves into my skin.

I don't ask if she's okay: it's obvious she's not.

We stay sitting like that for what feels like hours, until there's a pressing voice in my head telling me to coax her into getting dressed. She can't miss the funeral and she can't be late either, and already people are arriving downstairs with voice tones reserved only for days like today. I should know: I heard it enough in Wisconsin.

I stroke her fingers so they release their pressure and retract back towards her palms to reveal the indents she's left, and she startles at that - the marks she's etched into me. There's a sharp intake of breath and then she runs her fingertips so softly over the ridges that the hairs on my arms stand to attention.

"I'm sorry," Erin whispers but I shake my head, no.

"Don't be. You don't have to be sorry for anything about today." I rest my lips against her hair because she's close enough that I can smell the coconut. "But you do have to get ready."

"Will you stay?" she asks, like there's even a fraction of a chance I would leave her now.

"Of course."

She nods softly and rises, my lips instantly missing their resting place. "Just until after today."

"And after that," I tell her before she can get any ideas about me ever not being where she is; where she needs me. "I'll stay long after that, too."

X

The day passes in a blur of quiet blackness. I hear voices but not words; watch expressions on faces without reading emotions; sink coffee after coffee without feeling the caffeine buzz I should get. All of the time, my eyes and ears and touch are centred on Erin. I hear only her words; see only her emotions - masked where she can, but occasionally slipping past her eyes when she tires of maintaining that guard - and use the coffee entirely because I know it'll keep me awake however long she needs me to hold her tonight.

By the time it's just her and Hank and Justin, I'm aching from watching her pretend like Camille wasn't more of a mother to her in the past few months than Bunny has been her entire life. She finally gives up the act around seven in the evening, cracking when she picks up the bottle of gin sitting in the liquor cabinet and Hank immediately instructs her to put it down.

"Or what?"

He pushes his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other without saying anything and then looks at me.

"Why don't we go for a walk?" I suggest, panicked about what to suggest in the tiny timeframe he's given me. Erin scowls though and tightens her hold on the bottle.

"To where? Camille's grave?"

Her voice is so bitter it makes me wince; Hank too. Justin though, darts forwards to seize the bottle from her grasp. "Go with Jay," he spits. "Get the fuck out of this house."

"Justin…" Hank starts, ready to defend Erin but she's past that now - beyond needing someone to fight her battles for her (or so she thinks).

"You got your keys?" she asks me, already heading out of the door. I look to Hank who only nods, then dart to keep up with her.

"Yes."

"You love me?"

"Course I do," I say, panic flaring up my spine. Nobody should ever spit out the words to that question like she just has.

"Good."

She reaches for the passenger door handle and I find myself asking where we're going like the answer even matters.

"Just drive," is all she says. And so I do.

Around twenty minutes in when she's clawing at the hem on her dress and I'm circling the neighbourhood for what seems like the twentieth time, Erin starts giving me directions. Like her slave, I obey every left and right like my life depends on it. Maybe, I figure, it does. Only when we cross Franklin Boulevard do I realise we're headed towards Bunny's. I open my mouth to suggest we go somewhere else but she beats me to it.

"You say you love me? Keep driving."

As anticipated, she barks a "stop here," at me when we reach Bunny's building. I slow the car warily and almost consider activating the whole-car locking system so she can't open her door, but I figure that would earn me nothing but undesirable things and so when Erin removes her seatbelt, I follow suit.

We go inside and I ask nothing, just stay by her side the entire time, stealing glances when I think she won't notice. Her face is a mask of calm but I can sense the bubbling anger and overwhelming hurt beneath. I have no idea if we're here to get alcohol or take all of this out on Bunny but whatever the reason, I'm glad she's let me come.

We knock - or, more accurately, Erin knocks and I wait beside her because apparently, she no longer has a key. I don't ask why. The door opens after a half minute or so, during which she gnaws at her bottom lip until she tears the skin enough to draw blood. I want to prise it out from those pearly whites of hers; sooth it with my thumb and then my own lips and tongue but I know this isn't the time for that.

Bunny gasps her daughter's name in two slow syllables, after which she eyes us up and down and must realise where we've been.

"Got anything strong?" Erin asks without any pretence as to why we're here. "Liquor, not pills." As if trying to kill me with words only, she glares at me as she says her next statement. "I promised I wouldn't do that any more."

At that, her mom scoffs. "Never change for a man honey; they'll only let you down."

"Not him. He won't," she says quickly, and for a millisecond, my heart lifts just enough to refocus: this isn't about hurting me - it's about _her_ not hurting quite so much any more. "The alcohol, Bunny," she instructs.

"Honey, why don't you sit down?"

"Because we're not staying," Erin replies flatly, heading into the livingroom. "Just came for this." She lifts up the half-empty bottle of vodka and breezes past us both towards the front door.

"So what? Your _new mom's_ dead but I'm only good for booze?"

The words spray out of her mouth like bullets in rapid fire and I think just maybe, this situation might be worse than when my mom died. At least I didn't have this.

"You're lucky you're good for _that_ ," Erin returns icily.

"Well I was good enough when you needed advice," Bunny starts, her voice raised and and that, my girl flames and then turns sheet-white. "When you needed somewhere to hide the results of that pill!"

"Stop it!" Erin screeches. "Jay, let's go."

I follow - of course I do - but Bunny isn't done. "Did you tell him? This boy who won't let you down? Did you tell him what you did to his child?"

"Bunny-"

"-Did she tell you?" She continues as I feel Erin grabbing for my arm to pull me out of the door. My feet seem like they're wading in quicksand though: the words 'pill' and 'child' rooting them to the floor of this apartment.

"Jay, come _on_ ," I hear Erin say, her words choked with tears enough to release my feet. I don't know if Bunny says anything else. I don't even know what's just happened but I'm jumping to a conclusion I don't want to be at and I'm unable to see anything other than what my mind is conjuring.

Somehow, we make it out to the car and I fall into the seat on autopilot. I drive us until we reach Hank and Camille's (or just Hank's, I suppose) at which point I kill the engine and take the bottle of vodka from Erin's hands. She hasn't drunk from it and makes no protest at the neck sitting in my palm. I open the door, rise until i'm standing and then hurl the damn thing as far down the street as I can. It smashes somewhere in the distance but she doesn't say anything, just stares straight ahead with tears streaming silently down her face.

"Come on," I say, my voice somehow level and surprisingly, she leaves the car to walk by my side as we head towards the front porch.

Hank watches us enter the house and then head straight upstairs, offering what I think is a grateful nod in my direction, although I've been both blinded and deafened back at Bunny's and all I need is to get Erin to bed and then figure this whole thing out.

We enter her bedroom but all she does is stare at me, her chest heaving and heavy as she tries to suck in a breath. The whole time, she's silent - like talking might kill her - and strung so tight that I'm almost certain a single word could snap her in two. I watch her just like she's watching me: waiting to see who'll make the first move; whether the explanation comes of its own accord or because it's probed and squeezed out of her by my question.

Finally, Erin turns to her nightstand, sliding open the drawer quietly with a trembling hand. She reveals a piece of paper, folded neatly and scrawled with looped handwriting bearing her name. She hands it to me silently and then leaves, but to where, I'm not sure. I don't check. Don't even turn my head an inch in the direction of that scent of hers she always leaves behind: coconut and something sweeter entwined in a musky embrace that's so uniquely Erin.

I'm not sure how long I hold the paper for without unfolding it. Minutes maybe, or longer, but finally I take the edge and pull it away from its crease.

 _Erin,_

It starts, and I already know this is from Camille. And it's not meant for me; I shouldn't even be holding it, let alone casting my eyes across the delicate loops of the cursive handwriting.

"Keep reading," Erin instructs in a whisper from behind me as I start to fold the paper back up. She's standing in the doorway I think, although I don't turn to look.

"It's not for me," I say, my voice somehow flat despite the overwhelming mix of emotions battling for dominance in my chest.

"I want you to see it. See what I did." I almost don't hear the next bit, but my ears seem attuned to everything _her_. "See why."

 _I wish we could've spent more time together. We didn't get to do enough of the shopping and talking about boys I'd always imagined I'd get to do with you, but the time we had meant everything to me._

 _I'm sorry I left before we talked about the termination._

I stop at that. Re-read that word _termination_ about ten times before I turn to look at Erin. She's standing stoically, head held in that position that doesn't allow me to meet her eyes. "Keep reading," she says for the second time tonight.

 _You made the right choice Erin, but I wish I could've been there to hold your hand through that pain: you shouldn't have done that alone. If telling Jay is too hard, focus on the reason you made your choice because it'll remind you how much you love him. But remember this: you deserve your future just as much as he does._

I don't want to read any more. I fold the piece of paper back into its neat creases, set in on Erin's nightstand and turn to look at her. She swallows but continues to look straight ahead, like she doesn't dare cast her eyes in my direction, and so I stand, cross to where she is so I can turn her face towards me.

"You don't deserve to get trapped here," she chokes. "You deserve more."

It isn't fair, I think, that she made the choice to go through all of that on her own, and it isn't fair that I'm grateful she made the choice she did; that we didn't have to decide together when I know there's a huge chance her preference would've been different to mine; that the resulting _lack of baby_ means I don't have to give up my dream - or even shelve it for a while.

Thanking her would be callous though, I figure.

"Was that _your_ dream?" I dare to ask, because I know there must've been a fantasy there.

"Getting knocked up in high school?" she asks and I wince, because her words are too blunt for the gravity of this situation.

"I didn't mean exactly that."

She shrugs and then sighs softly. "In another life maybe."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs again. "Not your fault."

Except it is. I could've been more careful. "I love you," I tell her, because what else is there to say?

She peeks up at me tentatively; unconvinced. "Still?"

I press my lips against hers. " _More_."

X

The next week, the weather takes on even more of summer's characteristics: long, warm days with blinding sunshine and the kind of heaviness that comes with evening thunderstorms.

There's a veritable sweeping under the rug that's been done regarding her ever being pregnant and I'm pretty sure neither of us want to bring up the subject. Erin's still hurting though - quietly disappointed that a shot at having a real family has been not so much taken away, as _thrown_ away - but the hole Camille's left is bigger.

I look towards her as Mr Davies says something about an upcoming test and I know she hasn't heard a single word all lesson. The sun's streaming through the windows and lighting up her face so I can see the scattering of freckles on her skin, and I get an idea.

"Hey," I whisper, sliding my fingers over hers because sometimes the only thing that brings her back is my touch. Words aren't always enough.

Her head tilts towards me and I know I've got her. "You wanna get out of here?"

She nods and clutches my fingers in hers and for the first time in my life, I run out of class in the middle of a lesson.

We reach my car, out of breath from running - and I almost suggest we turn around and head back, but Erin's looking at me like she'll do anything I say and it's enough to continue.

"Do you want to go to the beach?"

She shrugs. "I'll go anywhere." The _with you_ is implied but not voiced, and I kiss her then, stealing her lips for the next twenty seconds until we're both panting and she's using my forehead to rest against.

We head to 31st Street beach without a towel or even anything to change into, but it doesn't matter. I lie down on the soft sand and Erin presses herself so close against me that not a whisper of air could pass between us. She lays her head on my chest and I card my hands through her hair so her limbs relax enough that I can no longer see the white brought about by her clenched fingers.

She dozes off sometime after the sun's risen high enough that it's too hot to wear anything but my jeans, her hair dancing over my chest each time the breeze catches a wave of dark blonde. Everything about Erin when she's sleeping is peaceful and I let her stay like that as long as I can so she doesn't have to spend a minute longer than she has to in this world of hers where Camille's gone and her shot at a fantasy future's gone and, for some reason, I'm the only thing keeping her from going under.

Eventually though, she succumbs to consciousness again, rolling so she tugs me with her and she can kiss me with lazy lips. She tastes like salt and sunlight and somehow, it's even better than the coconut.

"Promise me something," I say, and she looks up at me like I'm the only reason she's breathing. "Never use the fact that I love you as a threat or a reason to push me away."

She searches my eyes with hers like she's looking for the words she needs in them. The gentlest of nods, the softest of 'okays' and then her lips are sipping at mine again.

"Just…" she trails off, trailing one of her fingers along my collarbone. "Promise me something too."

"Okay,"

"The minute I'm bad for you, you leave. You don't owe me an explanation because I already get it."

"No," I tell her, gathering the loose waves of hair so they don't shield her eyes. "You don't. You're bad for you; you'll never be bad for me."

"Either way," she says. "You leave."

I won't agree. Don't have to. I'll marry her one day; give her that dream she wants alongside mine.

One day.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N - Here it is - the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and messaged for this story. You've all been so lovely. I hope this chapter rounds things off in a way you'll all enjoy.**

 **Shameless plug for my new story: A Fairytale By Another Name. Chapter one is up now so check it out after you've read (and reviewed ;P) this one.**

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Dangerous Love

Loving Jay Halstead is easy. Goodness radiates from him even now, as he stands in his uniform looking sexy as hell but authoritative too - like he's all ready to bust my ass, remind me in that gentle tone of his how I should behave, and then suck his way along my neck with persistent lips so I'm all kinds of turned on.

His eyes are staring straight ahead; hat perfectly seated on his head; face impassive and yet I know he sees me. Know that those reflexes of his - instinctive or practised, it doesn't matter - can pick me out of a crowd in a split second. It's somehow unsettling and reassuring, how seriously he takes my safety.

His dad smiles next to me, proudly, I think, at the man Jay is. And I don't know if it's a reflection of him or whether my man's just so inherently _good_ that he's made it to this point without ever putting a foot wrong, but I'm glad everyone else has finally recognised how amazing Jay is.

"That'll be you soon," Patsy says, leaning across her husband so she can squeeze my arm.

I nod and smile, feeling my stomach flip in a way that's both excited and terrified. "Hopefully."

The decision to apply to the academy wasn't solely a result of Jay loving it so much, but his stories of training only helped solidify my decision to follow in both his and Hank's footsteps. As it turns out, living with someone who can pull the strings as much as Hank does has its rewards.

The rest of the graduation ceremony passes by with sharp formality until finally, the CPD's newest recruits fall out of the uniform lines and I get to see Jay up close again. I wait for Patsy to kiss his cheek and his dad to shake his hand until finally, he entwines his fingers with mine and brushes his lips against my temple.

There are photographs and cheers with plastic champagne flutes and networking that is pretty obvious Jay doesn't really want to partake in, and the whole thing steals him for way longer than either of us want it to, but eventually, he returns his whole focus to me, whispers that he wants to go somewhere there's only us and then seals his lips over mine.

"Don't say things like that," I whisper, leaning in even closer because I just can't get close enough.

"Or what?" he murmurs back, humming as I graze his neck with my nose.

"Or I'll imagine a fantasy and then be disappointed when we have to go back to Hank's or your dad and Patsy's."

"Then let's go somewhere else," he says, and I peek up at him in an attempt to determine whether or not he means it.

"Like where?"

"The cabin."

My heart speeds up in excitement. We haven't been there since the Spring Break after we'd first met.

"You mean it?"

"That I want to get you alone up there?" he asks, "Course I do."

I feel my lips spread into a grin that I couldn't suppress if I wanted to. Jay grins too, like making me happy is his sole mission. Sometimes I wonder whether it actually is. "When?"

He shrugs. "Tomorrow. Tonight. Now."

I tug on his sleeve and lift up onto my toes so I can kiss him before breathing the word into his mouth. I don't care who's watching. "Now."

X

Dusk is settling over the horizon by the time we pull up in the 300, and I can tell from the way in which Jay stretches as he exits the car that he's tired. I make my way round to him, breathing against the back of his t-shirt and sinking my thumbs into his shoulders. I feel him relax against me, his hands reaching backwards so they're grazing my thighs.

"You go switch the hot tub on," I tell him. "I'll bring the stuff inside."

He turns and smiles, runs his hand along my jaw until he's holding my chin to tilt my face upwards towards his lips, and then lets out the tiniest of chuckles. "I'll get the bags baby. You put the champagne in the refrigerator."

So good. He's always so good to me.

I inhale his smell - that heady mix of mint and musk and cinnamon that will never not be uniquely _him_ \- and press a kiss against his chest before I take the few bags of groceries we bought on the way out here. Jay brings the bags, shuts the trunk and then unlocks the door, all without breaking a sweat or looking remotely troubled. He's tired though - I can see it in his eyes and feel it in his fingers: the way they knock against mine without any purpose other than simply to touch.

The cabin is exactly how I remember it, and yet somehow different: a little more welcoming maybe; exciting, but in a different way than it was before. Its wooden floors are warm beneath my bare feet when I remove my sandals, soaked from the earlier sun's rays and creaking in that comforting way that signals a happy old age. Jay sets the bags down and kisses my shoulder, nuzzles my neck and mumbles that I smell like coconut and peaches.

I could do this forever, I think: be here with him like this. Have our summers here; run in bare feet beside the lake and sit in camp chairs beside a fire as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. And the rest. The unspoken _rest_ that means other feet beside ours - ones that might take their first steps here or learn to fish or sneak out and into town one night to meet one of the locals for stolen kisses at a fourth of July party. The _rest_ that means our future won't just be us and the CPD, but us and the CPD and the family we'll make together when it's the _right_ time.

"What're you thinking?" Jay asks, taking the champagne from the bag in my hand because I still haven't made it to the refrigerator yet.

"What we could have here," I tell him, because we're past the point of lying now about how we feel. About _what_ we feel for each other when it's so painfully obvious anyway.

The bottle goes into its space on the rack and then he crosses back to me, pulls me against him - grocery bags and all - and tells me we're going to have everything.

"Switch the hot tub on," I instruct. "I'll unpack."

Jay chuckles and shakes his head. "And risk you creasing my clothes? How about _you_ switch the hot tub on and _I'll_ unpack?"

Him and his order. I shrug. "Fine."

We complete our respective jobs but by the time I return to the bedroom to give him a hand, he's busy pulling his shirt over his head, exposing those abs of his and I lose all rational thought.

The rest of the unpacking gets forgotten. We lie in bed afterwards, drifting backwards and forwards into consciousness only to shuffle closer or press a kiss onto warm skin somewhere, and it's past midnight when we surface again to seek out carbohydrates and the cold champagne.

Jay sets about cooking the pasta we brought while I pour us a glass each of Canard-Duchene. He catches me sipping from his before I hand it to him but he only grins and says something cheesy about me sweetening it for him before he tastes it. He doesn't even care that it's lame - I know he only says these things because they make me smile, even if they are stupid.

"To my very own CPD officer," I say, raising my glass so he'll clink his against it. "Well done Halstead."

He beams and taps his glass with mine and I can't not kiss him. We break apart only when the water boils over the top of the pan and sizzles against the flame.

"Always distracting me," he mutters with a grin he can't hide as I hop up onto the counter so I can watch him at work. There's literally nothing this man can't do.

When the pasta's ready, he carries our bowls outside and down to the little jetty, and I follow with the champagne, the dew starting to settle on the grass and making our feet wet as we go. We eat quietly: no sounds other than the scraping of forks against the earthenware and the tiny waves lapping against the pebbles on the shoreline. It's the most peaceful place I've ever been - and, much like last time, I already don't want to go back.

We drink the champagne and reminisce about all the stupid stuff that happened after the last time we were here - after Camille dying and the abortion and getting over all of it enough to live life properly.

"Remember the senior prank?" Jay laughs, knocking into me lightly.

"I can't believe Ruzek and Atwater got away with that!"

"Are you kidding? After Ruzek intercepted that pass against Lincoln Park I think he would've got away with anything."

I laugh and drain the remnants of my glass as I think back to our senior year and Adam Ruzek's golden boy status.

We're slightly past tipsy but it feels good. Everything feels good with him - like he's a force field to keep out the bad so I only ever know lightness now.

"I think there's some wine in the cellar," Jay says. "If you want more."

He's so, so close. Close enough, I decide, that if I lean forward just enough, I could scoot between his legs because as much as I'd like something more to drink, I'd rather have him here against me.

It turns out though, to be a miscalculation. I trip over his outstretched leg and tumble towards the lake. He tries to grab my hand to stop me from going in but it's too late and it knocks him off balance too - sending him into the water right after me.

We both surface for air spluttering, and his hands are either side of my face, checking I'm okay as I gasp in oxygen.

"I'm fine," I laugh, leaning in to kiss him because after all, that _was_ my goal in all of this. "Sorry I got you all wet."

It's cold but he doesn't seem to care. _I_ don't care. I'm still finding the whole thing funny but he's looking at me in a strangely sobering way and I can't figure out what he's thinking.

"What?"

"I want to marry you," he says simply, like the words are just a common exhale.

I stare at him, trying to read his face to work out whether he's just realising this or whether it's something more. "That your idea of a proposal?"

He drifts closer, like even the lake is set on keeping us together. "It depends," he says softly.

"On what?

"Whether you want it to be. Whether you'd say yes."

I shake my head with a smile because even now, he's not aware of how much I want him forever. Always. "I'd marry you tomorrow Jay Halstead."

"You mean it?" he asks, so quiet it's almost a whisper.

"That I'd marry you?"

"That you'd do it tomorrow."

"Course I mean it."

He breaks into the widest grin and pulls me against him, stealing every last breath in my lungs until I'm dizzy but in the best way.

X

I wake to warm sun caressing the bed and an even warmer body beside me. My eyes slowly adjust to the brightness and I see Jay staring at me, his forefinger poised over the fourth finger of my left hand.

"You don't have to," he starts, dragging his eyes slowly up towards mine. "If you'd rather wait. Do the whole church thing and the dress and have Hank give you away."

I wait for them to get there so he can see the honesty in my own. "I don't want to wait another day to become your wife."

He beams and I feel my own face mirroring his. "I love the sound of that: you being my wife."

I love the sound of it too.

He cooks eggs while I shower and then pull on the only sundress I've brought, which happens to be white with pink lilies, before making my way back to him. I don't have the heart to tell him I can't even think about food when my stomach is dancing with butterflies, but he notices the tiny nibbles I'm taking and calls me out on it. Of course he does.

"You okay?"

"I'm excited," I tell him. "Just want to go and get this piece of paper so you can marry me."

He stares for a minute, looking at me without saying anything until he finally puts down his fork. "Breakfast can wait."

We walk into town hand in hand, and I don't notice anything but him: the softness of his palm despite the rough skin on his knuckles; the deep blue of his irises; the way he keeps sneaking glances my way when I thinks I can't see.

The building we need is unsuspecting, sandwiched in between a tiny saloon bar and a drug store with a window display made almost entirely of sunscreen. Jay holds the door open and we make our way up the stairs to the office we need.

Turns out that all you need for that piece of paper is $70, a driver's licence and a social security number.

"We're good to go," Jay says, dusting his thumb over my knuckles.

"So where now?"

"Courthouse."

My stomach flips and I squeeze his hand. "Let's go."

X

"Erin Halstead," Jay smiles, fingering the plain white gold band on my left hand. "That sounds good."

"You don't think Jay Lindsay would've been better?"

He rolls his eyes, giving me a playful shove so I land on the mattress, but then quickly pulls me back so I'm lying on top of him again. "Never."

I link our fingers so that the metal of our rings brushes together, and it's possibly the best sight in the world.

"Thank you."

He turns his head. "For what?"

It'd take too long to list everything. "Making that cup of coffee the day we met."

He chuckles and kisses my temple. "Even though it was cold?"

" _Especially_ because it was cold. The only reason I talked to you was to complain."

He smirks and God, it travels to that space between my legs faster than lightning. "What?"

"You'd have talked to me, regardless of the coffee."

I roll my eyes but it's hard to keep up the charade. "If you say so."

"I _know_ so."

"Pretty confident there Halstead."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He slips his left hand between my thighs and I gasp. My argument dies on my tongue.

My _husband_ does all the work with that left hand of his while I rake my own through his hair, the metal glinting in the thin shard of silvery moonlight, and yeah, I think, he has every right to be confident.


End file.
